


a collection of hearts

by andnowforyaya



Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Body Image, Dating, Fluff and Angst, Kid Fic, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Recovery, Single Parents, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2019-10-19 04:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 72,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17595041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andnowforyaya/pseuds/andnowforyaya
Summary: Who does this guy think he is, walking into Ten’s shop with the most adorable kid in the universe, with hair like that, a smile so blinding it could rival the light of the sun? There has to be a catch.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> please read tags!

The door opens with a loud and abrupt jingle, with such force that Ten worries the bells dangling above door frame will fly right off the wall. He looks up, alarmed at the sudden intrusion of his quaint little coffee shop, as a gust of warm summer air blows in through the opening along with a man wearing round-framed glasses, a smart-looking v-neck shirt and thin cardigan combination, and dark jeans, carrying a toddler like an over-sized football under his arm. 

“I’m sorry!” the man calls out in something just above a whisper as though to downplay his dramatic entrance, eyes wide and frantic. “Bathroom? He needs the bathroom. Do you have a public bathroom?”

Ten points in the direction of the bathroom in the back. The man nods with the wailing kid under his arm and sprints toward it, disappearing behind the door to the single-stall restroom.

“Kids, am I right?” the man in front of Ten across the counter says with a fond little shake of his head. He drops some change into the tip jar as Ten slides his piping hot coffee over to him.

“I suppose,” Ten says, bowing his head slightly, nose wrinkling a little bit. He flicks his eyes to the door of the bathroom to see if the pair have come out yet.

It’s late afternoon and business is slow, but regular. A couple of customers sit at the counter Ten installed at the front window, drinking their coffees and lattes and looking out at the park across the street, or else typing away on their laptops or phones. There are a few two-seat tables set up across the main counter where customers order, and half of them are occupied. Music plays overhead, a quiet and melodic mix that Sicheng put together for him.

Ten checks the display to see how they’re doing with the baked goods. Doyoung and Taeyong had left this morning after baking and decorating over ten batches of different kinds of cakes, cookies, and other pastries, and once they sell out, they’re gone for the day. Now, a couple of slices of chocolate cake remain, a cinnamon roll, and about a dozen or so assorted cookies. Not bad.

The door to the bathroom opens, and out walks a kid with a mop of wavy, honey-toned chestnut hair on top of his head, shaking his hands wildly in front of him and sprinkling water droplets everywhere. “Vroom!” he shouts, for no apparent reason. “Vroom! Vroom!”

“Yangyang, remember? Inside voice, baby.”

“Baba! I’m a car!” The kid jumps in glee and runs around in a circle around his father’s legs, making what Ten assumes are car noises. “Ba! Ba!”

The father sighs, palm to his face. He pushes his glasses up with a finger and adjusts a bookbag Ten hadn’t noticed before higher up on one shoulder. “Yes, you’re a very fast car,” he says patiently, running a hand through his thick black hair. His casual brushing reveals an undercut shaved into his sides, and Ten goes a little wobbly in the knees. “Take my hand, baby.” The dad holds his hand out and Yangyang grabs onto it at a run, jumping up and swinging himself from his father’s hand.

“Whee!” he says, as his father’s eyes widen impossibly huge behind his glasses and his son flings himself up into the air. Somehow, the father manages to turn the running leap into something like a pirouette that ends up with Yangyang safely nestled in the crook of his arm. Yangyang throws his skinny twig arms around his father's neck as they approach the counter, the adult's expression soft and a little relieved as he looks upon his son.

“He’s adorable,” Ten says, smiling at them both and pulling at his long sleeves with fidgeting fingers. The A/C is on full blast in the shop to offset the heat outside.

“An adorable handful. I’m so sorry,” the man says as Yangyang makes silly faces at Ten from the vicinity of his dad’s neck. He sticks his tongue out, so Ten sticks his tongue out, too. Yangyang shrieks laughter into his dad’s ear. “We had a bathroom emergency. We were at the park, and there were no public ones I could find, and this store is just across from it, and--”

“It’s fine,” Ten says, waving a hand to get him to stop talking and looking so flustered, even though it's adorable to watch the other man's ears blush redder and redder. “Cutie pie, do you want something sweet?”

“Huh, what?” The guy’s eyes widen again and the blush rises to his cheeks. He looks at Ten, then at Yangyang, his son, and realization forms like a light flicking on over his head. Adorable. “Oh, right,” he says, laughing nervously. “Oh, what do you say, Yangyang? These cookies look good, right?”

“Super good!” Yangyang says in the high-pitched register that only children can access. “Yangyang likes choco!”

“Chocolate chip?” Ten coos, raising his eyebrows exaggeratedly. “You’re in luck! We’ve got just one left.”

“Yay!” Yangyang cheers, throwing his little fists into the air.

Ten shifts to the display and opens it, taking a tissue to grab the last chocolate chip cookie left on the tray. He slips the cookie into a little paper bag with the shop’s name stamped on front: _10tsp_. Yangyang claps his hands, grinning hugely, when Ten holds the little bag out for him to take.

“Hold on a minute,” Ten teases the kid and pulling the treat just out of reach. “Are you _sure_ chocolate chip is your favorite?”

“Super sure,” Yangyang whines, a huge pout on his lips. He wiggles his fingers in an attempt to add another inch to his reach, but alas, his father holds him at too far a distance for his stubby fingers to make contact. “Please please please please.”

“Just half right now, Yangyang,” the older man chides gently. “It’s a big cookie and your tummy will hurt if you eat all of it at once. Oh, I know -- we can share, right?”

“Yeah, Baba likes cookies, too!” Yangyang agrees happily, nodding enthusiastically. The father smiles, corners of his eyes crinkling behind his glasses, and Ten’s heart flops over in his chest.

“How much?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Ten says graciously, thrusting the cookie at Yangyang, who takes it with both hands like a knight being handed his first ever real sword. His eyes sparkle like diamonds as he regards the paper bag with the cookie inside.

“No, please, let me pay.”

“I’m serious, don’t worry about it. Just bring him back sometime.” Ten winks at Yangyang, who obviously doesn’t understand what the gesture means, so he just blinks back at Ten rapidly, clutching the cookie to his chest. Ten laughs. “He’s so cute.”

“Most of the time,” the dad sighs, hoisting Yangyang higher up against his hip. “I’m Kun, by the way.” He holds one hand out across the counter to shake, and Ten takes it with a light touch of his fingers.

“Ten,” he says. “And this little guy is…?”

“Yangyang!” Yangyang shouts.

Ten laughs. “Cute.” Yangyang squeals and presses his face against his dad’s neck, whispering something there. Ten raises an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

Kun grins. Even his teeth are handsome. All at once, the pink apron around Ten’s waist feels too tight. “He says you’re pretty.” Yangyang points his fingers at Ten and mutters something else into his dad’s neck. “He likes your earrings. They’re sparkly. His word, not mine.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ten teases, lips curling at the corners. “And what word would you use?”

“Hm,” Kun hums under his breath, looking away for a moment, considering. When he looks back, his eyes lock on Ten’s, and the smirk on his face can only be described as positively impish. “Gorgeous?” he offers. “And I’m not just talking about the earrings. Though they’re pretty, too.”

Ten’s face heats pleasantly, the flush spreading down the column of his neck. Five minutes into this interaction and Ten’s already feeling reeled in like a fish on a line. Who does this guy think he is, walking into Ten’s shop with the most adorable kid in the universe, with hair like that, a smile so blinding it could rival the light of the sun? There has to be a catch. Ten look down at Kun’s hands, trying to find it.

He wears rings, but plain, silver bands, on a couple of his fingers. Any one of them could be a wedding band. Or none of them.

“Baba,” Yangyang whines. “You said we could go back to the park!”

“Oh, did I?” Kun asks him, and when Yangyang pouts again and nods, Kun can’t hold back his chuckle. “I did.” To Ten, he says, “We should get going. I promised more hours at the park before dinner.”

Ten nods in understanding, willing the flush in his cheeks to go away. “Uh huh, sure. See you again soon?”

“Sure,” Kun says. He reaches his hand out again, and Ten takes it. His hand is warm and dry against Ten’s. He holds on for much longer than Ten thinks is necessary. Ten really doesn’t mind. “Thanks for the cookie. And the bathroom.”

“My pleasure.”

“Yangyang, say bye to Ten.”

“Bye, Ten-Gege!” Yangyang says dutifully.

“Bye, sweetie.”

Kun lingers at the counter, his gaze locked on Ten’s. His eyes drift to the juncture of Ten’s neck and shoulder, then back up. Ten holds his breath, but Kun’s expression doesn’t change. A mix of wonder and attraction swirls in his irises. “Now that I know this place exists,” Kun says lowly, “I’ll be sure to come back to visit.”

.

Since there are no events on for tonight, Ten closes the shop around 7 in the evening and heads home, which is a cozy little apartment he shares with Taeyong just three blocks away from his shop. They’d lucked out on the apartment after college, snatching it up from one of Taeyong’s family friends who was leaving to become a resident of Cambridge, Massachusetts, off to medical school. The bedrooms in the apartment are tiny -- the prior inhabitant had actually used one of the rooms as her study room -- but Taeyong and Ten are both rather tiny people, and prefer the close quarters. Ten is someone who subconsciously tries to fill up empty space when he sees it, and has been told off more than once by exes and ex-roommates in college for his tendency to hold onto things.

He climbs the steps up to their stoop and lets himself into the building, then up the flight of stairs to their apartment on the second floor.

It smells like spicy, savory stew on the landing, and Ten grins to himself as he opens the door to his home. Instantly, the aromas thicken, making his mouth water. It’s a bit smokey in the apartment, so Ten steps out of his shoes and walks over to the window in the living room, opening it slightly.

“Tennie?” Taeyong calls from the kitchen. “Is that you?”

“You better hope it is,” Ten says.

“Could be Doyoung,” Taeyong says, his voice echoing slightly. “I gave him a copy of the key, remember? Sorry for the smoke. I was grilling.”

“What are you making?” Ten pads over to their pint-sized kitchen. There’s barely enough room in here to fit two whole adults, but Taeyong and Ten make it work. Taeyong is at the stove, tasting the stew he has bubbling away in a pot on it.

“Mm, try,” Taeyong says immediately when he sees him, beckoning Ten over. He shoves the spoon into Ten’s waiting, open mouth.

Ten swallows, smacking his lips, as Taeyong watches him, eyebrows furrowed and lips pinched together.

“Well? What do you think?” Taeyong asks impatiently.

“It’s good,” Ten says, coming closer. “What’s in it?”

“I think I’m gonna put it on the menu,” Taeyong says, going back to the pot and ignoring Ten’s question. “Doyoung is coming over for dinner to try it, too. The recipe’s nearly there, just not quite. What do you think is missing?”

“Love?” Ten quips, laughing when Taeyong’s immediate response is to turn around and smack him lightly on the arm.

“Quit it. Be serious. The menu has to be perfect. Plus, I put a fuck-ton of love into this stew, so don’t you dare tell me there’s no love in it.”

“It’s amazing, Yongie, but you knew that. I’m sure Doyoung will tell you the same.”

“I just need validation,” Taeyong whines, stamping his feet at the stove.

“Aww,” Ten coos. “Someone needs a cuddle.”

“I’ve been slaving away at this for days. The restaurant opening is in _two weeks_  and I’m still fine-tuning the menu. Is that normal? And my mom just called and told me I had to hire her friend’s son as a waiter. Dong...hyuck? Which is just great. If I remember correctly, he’s a little shit.”

“Taeyong!” Ten chides, stepping behind his friend and throwing his arms around his waist and front. He gives him a good squeeze and Taeyong actually exhales, like a balloon deflating. “Breathe in and out. You’re doing great. The restaurant is going to be a huge success. We’re all so excited for you.”

The stew bubbles away from the stove, fragrant steam rising to the ceiling of their kitchen. After a couple of deep breaths, Ten can feel the anxious energy start to drain out of Taeyong, can feel the muscles of his shoulders relax.

Taeyong rests one of his hands over Ten’s. “Thanks,” he says quietly.

“Any time,” Ten says, giving Taeyong another squeeze before letting him go.

“How was the shop?” Taeyong asks. He turns the burner off and moves the stew to the back of the stove to rest. “Anything exciting today?”

“Oh, you know, same old,” Ten says automatically. He opens the fridge and scans the shelves for a bottle of wine that’s already been opened, and pulls out a chilled white he remembers liking. “You want?”

“Sure,” Taeyong says, nodding at the bottle. Ten reaches overhead to take out three glasses, two for them now and one for Doyoung, who will no doubt arrive in the next couple of minutes. He pours a generous serving for them, and Taeyong thanks him for the glass.

“Actually,” Ten starts before shutting up, sipping at his wine.

“Actually what?” Taeyong asks, lifting an elegant eyebrow in curiosity.

“Actually…” Ten begins again, hesitant, slow. “I...met someone?”

Taeyong blinks at him. Wine sloshes around in his glass. “Excuse me what?”

“I met someone?” Ten tries again. Another sip, this one larger than the last. The wine is sweet going down his throat.

“And?” Taeyong asks. “Spill! How’d you meet? What were they like?”

Ten pictures Kun and Yangyang, Kun’s hair swept messily to the side, his smile bright and contagious, his eyes dark and warm behind his glasses.

“Uh oh,” Taeyong says. “I know that look.”

“What look?” Ten scowls, straightening.

“That look,” Taeyong says unhelpfully. “You’re already dreaming about your happily ever after!”

“Am not,” Ten protests. He sulks against the counter and tops himself off with the wine just to give himself something to do. “He’s got a kid, anyway. And probably a partner. Somewhere.”

Taeyong’s frowns. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Ten sighs. With his free hand, he scrubs at his hair in frustration, letting out a little whine that had been building at the back of his throat since this afternoon. “Hnnng, but Yongie, he was so handsome. And his kid! Was the most adorable kid I’ve ever seen in my life. And that _includes_ my sister’s.”

“I’m telling her you said that.”

“She’s heard it from me before.”

“And yet you’re both still so close,” Taeyong wonders aloud, shaking his head. “Are you _sure_ he has a partner? A kid doesn’t necessarily mean that. Did he flirt with you? Did you flirt back?”

“No, yes, yes?” Ten says, ticking off the responses in his head. “He was wearing a lot of rings, I couldn’t tell. But like, it’s never gonna happen, anyway. So.”

“Why?” Taeyong presses.

“Because,” Ten says, and leaves it at that. He finishes the remaining wine in the glass and carefully puts the glass back down on the countertop. “Someone like him doesn’t get with someone like me.”

Taeyong’s face falls. “Tennie--”

“I’m gonna wash up before Doyoung gets here,” Ten says. “Don’t start dinner without me?”

Taeyong sighs. “Of course.”

Ten can feel his friend’s eyes on his back as he makes his way to his bedroom, but he does his best to ignore the gaze, keeping his eyes down until he’s behind the bathroom door.

There, he takes a breath in the close quarters before turning on the light and beginning to strip, facing himself in the mirror above the sink. On some days, it’s too hard for him to look. But today he’s a little bit more determined; he wants to know what Kun saw, and tries to view himself objectively. His hair is a fading lilac, lighter around his ears, cropped short and close. His chin tapers to a point, the line of his jaw sharp and angular, and his eyes softly narrow at the outer corners. He’d worn a little makeup today, just something subtly glittery over his lids, and barely-there eyeliner on the top lashline. Stars dot his earlobes.

He drags his shirt over his head and drops it to the ground. In the mirror, he can see his own jaw tense, and he reaches up to trace his fingers down the line of his throat, over his collarbone, to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, the dip there. His fingers run across imperfections in the skin, the raised scar tissue marring it. The scars littering his collar are dark, burnished red, round in shape, some of them almost perfect circles. Ten winces, remembering the shock of pain that night, the searing heat against his skin and the smoldering burn after. He thought he was dying.  

Usually, he covers the scar up with concealer, but over the course of the day the concealer always thins. His fingers travel lower, over his chest and narrow ribs. There, just over the crest of his hip bone, in the fleshy part of his side, another set of scars. Ten feels pressure building behind the backs of his eyes and pushes it down and back and _away_. He’s not there anymore. Taeyong is outside in their apartment, cooking dinner, probably texting Doyoung and asking him why he’s taking so long.

He takes another shuddering breath before pushing his jeans from his hips and stepping out of them, then his underwear. It’s too low to reflect in the mirror above the sink, but he knows there’s another scar marking the inside of his left thigh, and another smear of them running up the length of his right forearm.  

He goes to the tub and turns the water on, as hot as it will go. Steam quickly fills up the room, clouding his vision and fogging up the mirror. Kun saw the scars at his collar. Ten knows he did. Like a cattle brand. He tests the water on the back of his hand and hisses when the water scalds him, leaving red welts on his skin.

He turns the knob to a slightly cooler setting, content to sit in the steam for a little while before getting under the spray, wondering if he'll ever right again in his own skin.

.

Ten comes to with his head in Taeyong’s lap, his friend’s fingers stroking through his hair. They’re on the couch, watching some baking show that Taeyong loves and Doyoung tolerates. His belly is still full from dinner, and his head dizzy from the wine. He rouses and turns, shoulder stiff and aching.

“He wakes!” Doyoung announces.

“What time is it?” Ten mumbles blearily, rubbing at his eyes with the backs of his hands.

“Midnight,” Taeyong says quietly. “You really knocked out. You want to go to bed?”

Doyoung says, “Sometimes I wish you’d get your own boyfriend. That lap’s mine, you know.”

“Yongie’s lap is his and his alone.”

“Thank you,” Taeyong laughs.

“Okay,” Doyoung concedes. “But I do feel that as his exclusive boyfriend I should have visiting rights at least every other weekend.”

“This is _our_ apartment,” Ten points out, sitting up with a groan. “Visit his lap at your place.”

“Oh, I do,” Doyoung says smarmily.

Ten sticks out his tongue and pushes himself off the couch, wobbling only a little bit from the multiple glasses of wine they shared over dinner. “Gross. Good night.”

“Good night,” Taeyong says cheerfully. Ten hears Doyoung crawl over to Taeyong behind him, hears them giggling as the baking show continues in the background. Taeyong has been so stressed about the restaurant these past few months, and Doyoung really stepped up his partner-game, taste-testing Taeyong's menu for his opening night, helping to hire staff, providing insight on the decor. Doyoung has even started to come to Ten’s shop in the mornings to help Taeyong bake the treats he’ll be selling that day, dutifully measuring out flour and sugar when his boyfriend instructs him to. He's become a regular presence in their apartment and fit himself right into the cushions of their couch like he'd been there all along. 

Ten plods into his bedroom and closes the door, falling face first down onto his bed and pulling his blankets around him to cocoon himself in warmth. He remembers how Kun’s eyes had looked at him in wonder, and lets himself smile. In seconds, he’s asleep again.

.


	2. Chapter 2

Days pass, and thoughts of Kun and Yangyang drift to the back of Ten's mind, busy as he is with the shop and all the great things to be experienced as a small business owner. One day it's a broken oven that needs scheduled repair and the next day it's the water to the building being shut off for two hours without any sort of announcement and the next it's getting chewed out by an angry customer for not having oatmilk on hand for his coffee. Ten makes a note to look for more milk alternatives the next time he's restocking, and ends up giving the customer his coffee for free.

By the time Thursday afternoon rolls around and Mark strolls in through the shop’s doors, Ten feels a little bit like a wrung out towel, skin tight around his too-bright eyes.

“Hey, boss,” Mark calls cheerfully, waving a hand.

“Hey, Mark.” Ten can't help but smile at the kid, no matter how stressed out he feels. Mark just has this happy-go-lucky energy about him, a bounce to his step at almost all times. When he grins, Ten's always reminded of a cute, eager puppy. “How's your class going?”

“Good,” Mark says, coming around the counter and stuffing his bookbag in one of the shelves underneath and pulling out his apron, a pastel green one with cupcakes printed over the front kangaroo pocket, from same shelf. “We've got a paper due tomorrow, though. Do you think you could ask Doyoung-hyung to read it?”

“You could ask him yourself!” Ten helps him tie the apron in the back because Mark always has trouble with the knot. “You've got his number, right?”

“Well, yeah, but he scares me,” Mark mumbles.

“Doyoung? Scary? He's all bark.”

“Barks can still be very loud and scary,” Mark says. Apron tied, Mark turns to the counter and starts to count up the treats they have left and to look over the menu for the day. “It's just the one class, I guess. I'll live!”

Ten's expression softens. “It's for your major, right? I'll ask him.”

Mark's returning smile is wide and bright. “Really? Thanks, hyung!”

“No problem.” They're quiet as Ten closes out the register for himself so that Mark can take over, working side by side.

Mark's presence in Ten's life was unexpected but welcome. Fresh on his own again and back in New York after years, it had taken time for Ten to truly fit himself back in with old friends from college. Taeyong had been the first, then Sicheng, and then slowly he found his social group inexplicably expanding without him really meaning for it to. When he opened the cafe, he'd thrown himself fully into the work, because working literally all the time meant he didn't have to think about other things. He'd been stubborn and staunch about doing it on his own as much as possible, only leaning on friends when he felt he was on the verge of snapping like an overstretched rubber band. It was on one of these rubber band nights when Taeyong, now his roommate and happily dating Doyoung, had told him, “You _have_ to hire someone, Ten, or you'll collapse.”

And it was Sicheng who said, “You need help.” He didn't just mean with the cafe.

Mark, a student in college, was one of the first people to respond to Ten's half hearted job ad on his shop's Instagram page, and within days he was hired. He picked things up quickly as Ten's part time cafe assistant, an earnest and diligent worker who was always extra careful walking mugs of coffee on trays over to customers for fear of spilling them, and soon enough Ten entrusted him to his own set of keys to the shop. The trust meant Ten could leave him alone at the store, which meant Ten got back a couple of hours of precious time per week for himself.

Hours, all alone with his thoughts, and space enough to think about something other than the shop.

Ten lasted two weeks -- four shifts that Mark took over -- before Sicheng intervened again, texting him the number of the therapist he'd talked to when he and Yuta had been going through a rough patch.

“It's not a _stupid_ rough patch,” Ten told him, on a call with him after reading his text, misplaced anger spilling out of his mouth. Each word on his phone’s screen from Sicheng's message had thudded against his stomach like a fist.

“I know,” Sicheng said steadily. “Just trust me, Ten. Please?”

It was the first time Ten could remember that Sicheng had ever used the word _please_ with him in a way that was not meant to be sarcastic or biting. So Ten went.

A year later he's still going. Mark starts up the register under his name and turns to Ten with a question in his eyes. “Aren't you gonna be late?”

“No,” is Ten's immediate response as he slowly unties his apron and folds and refolds it a couple of times before putting it neatly into his cubby under the counter. He flushes under Mark’s considering and slightly withering gaze. “Alright, jeez, I'm leaving. I'm going. Who's the grown-up here?”

“Technically, we're both over 18 and therefore both grown-ups.”

“Don't be smart with me.”

“Can't help that I'm a genius,” Mark says with a bubbling laugh. “Quit dragging your feet or you'll be _really_ late.”

.

Sometimes, therapy sessions with Taeil completely wipe him out, leaving him to trudge home like a marathon runner just shy of crossing the finish line, every single cell in his body on the verge of shutting down. The apartment is empty when he lets himself in, his mind filled with static white noise as he steps out of his shoes and goes to curl up on his couch with the throw blanket spread over his lap. He stares at the blank, black screen of the TV.

He's not sure how long he sits there, dazed and still, emotionally drained, but when his phone buzzes in his lap with a text, the sky outside is burning as the sun sets.

_Hyung, how's it going?_

It's Mark. Slowly, feeling creeps back into Ten's limbs as an involuntary grin stretches across his lips.

_It's fine. Thanks Mark. How's the shop?_

_Busy! But look! Got something I think will make you smile~ Look who wanted to say hi!_

Ten watches his phone expectantly. Three little dots appear in the corner, and a moment later an image fills his screen.

It's Yangyang being carried in someone’s arms, holding up a peace sign with one hand and a chocolate chip cookie as big as his adorable face in the other. There's chocolate smeared on his cheek, and Ten can just make out the bottom half of Kun's face at the top of the image.

“So freakin’ cute,” Ten whispers to himself, his smile growing. The three dots appear again, and Mark sends:

_His dad says he paid for the cookie this time, whatever that means (flirting?????)_

_Tell him I'm sorry I missed him_

_He says he's sorry too but he'll come back with his kid soon bc his kid keeps talking about the pretty purple haired gege...that's you right (definitely flirting????)_

Ten snorts, holding his hand up to his mouth to stifle the noise.

_Okay okay, get back to work!_

_Yes boss 🤪_

Ten lets himself sink further into the cushions of the couch with a deep sigh. He should fix himself something to eat. Get a glass of water. Call Doyoung for Mark. He makes a little checklist in his head of everything he should and could be doing and commits to doing at least three of them. Three is good.

Resolutions made, Ten pushes himself off the couch and heads into the kitchen.

.

Friday mornings are always incredibly busy at the shop; sometimes it feels like everyone in the city turns up to Ten's little cafe between the hours of 7 and 10 on Fridays to get their one last fix of caffeine to get them through their work week before the weekend truly starts. He and Mark both work behind the counter managing traffic flow, so seamless in their coordination of orders being called and made and processed that it can almost be completely mindless for Ten. He plasters a customer-service smile on his face and writes names on paper cups with sharpie for almost two hours straight, burning his fingers on dark roast and getting milk foam all over his apron.

Right about the time when the names Ten’s writing on the cups start to look like hieroglyphics to him and to everyone else, the morning rush dies off, and Mark announces it’s time for his break. Ten waves him off and Mark happily slides under the counter with his phone, already furiously typing away at the screen. In the lull that follows, Ten takes a rag out from under the counter and starts to wipe it down, pouting when he notices he’s got a huge coffee stain now on the front of his pink apron.

“I’m sure it’ll wash out.”

“Ten-gege!”

Ten looks up. Kun’s standing at the counter and Yangyang is trying to climb it, fingers hooked over the top and forehead just visible over the flat surface. Today, Kun is in a plain, sky blue v-neck tee and shorts, and Ten audibly gasps and coos when he sees that Yangyang is wearing an outfit to match.

Ten leans over the counter, chest nearly pressed against it, to peer at Yangyang’s bright, happy face, nearly nose to nose. “You!” Ten calls cheerfully. “I missed you yesterday!”

“It’s me, Yangyang!” Yangyang says.

“I know that, silly.” Ten laughs, reaching out to ruffle Yangyang’s hair. “You match with your dad!”

Yangyang nods excitedly. “Can I have a cookie, Gege?”

“Hm, I don't know,” Ten says, straightening so he can prop himself up onto his elbows. Kun's cheeks turn a little pink when Ten grins up at him. “We should ask your dad.”

“Babaaaaa,” the kid turns to Kun immediately and whines.

Kun's hand falls to Yangyang's hair when his son goes to him, clinging to his shorts and giving him what Ten assumes are the most adorable puppy eyes in the universe. Kun must have nerves of steel, or at least the nerves of a very responsible parent, because he says, “Baby, we haven't even had lunch yet. How about we revisit that after lunch? Hm?” He says something in Mandarin that Ten can't quite decipher. He'd taken a beginner level Mandarin course in college and had a few classes on and off growing up in Thailand, but he'd only managed to retain rather basic-level vocabulary.

Yangyang pouts and crosses his little arms in front of his chest, and Ten understands when Kun tells him gently in Mandarin, “Go sit at that table.”

His son goes to the empty table in the corner, climbing up onto the seat and putting his chin on the surface of the table top, still pouting.

“What did you say to him?” Ten asks, curious.

“Oh, nothing. Just reminded him about our rule for sweets. Just one a day unless it's a special occasion.”

“So strict!” Ten laughs.

“Is it?” Kun raises his eyebrows, looking worried. He bites into his bottom lip. “Of course, I don't want to take sweets away completely, but I don't want him to eat them non-stop, too, you know? He needs to know to eat his vegetables and rice and all that--”

“I'm just teasing,” Ten interrupts, amused with the way Kun almost immediately clamps his lips together, the spots of pink returning to his cheeks. “It's a good rule as rules go. You're pretty responsible, huh?”

“I just wanna do this right,” Kun says with a sigh, coming closer to the counter and shooting a glance back over his shoulder to make sure his son hasn't run off in the two seconds his eyes haven't been on him. “He's my world.”

“I can tell,” Ten says. He notices he’s wringing the towel between his hands, and puts it back down onto the counter. His fingers feel twitchy. “Is it...um, do you have any help with him?”

Kun chuckles a little quietly, eyes ducking to the counter. “Ah, no. It’s just me and him. We were with my parents for a while before, but now...well, we’re kind of new to the city.” He looks almost sheepish saying it with a shrug.

“Oh, yeah? Where are you moving from?” Ten asks.

The flush on Kun’s face deepens and darkens. “Fuzhou,” he says at first, then shakes his head a little and further explains: “In China.”

“Oh, so you’re _new_ new,” Ten teases, grinning. He points at himself. “I’m a transplant, too! From Thailand.”

Kun’s expression brightens as he leans onto the counter. “How long have you been here?”

“A couple of years, now. But I went to college here, too,” Ten explains, only pausing a little bit when memories of landing at JFK with one suitcase and a tremor in his hands rush to the forefront of his mind. Taeyong and Sicheng had been at the airport to pick him up. Back then, he couldn’t go anywhere without constantly looking over his shoulder, flinching at shadows. “A lot had changed when I came back.”

Kun says softly, “I’d love to hear about it sometime.”

Ten’s heart stutters, and his grin falters at the thought of telling Kun his story. At the same moment, Yangyang decides to remind everyone in the shop of his presence.

“Babaaaa,” the kid calls from the table, now dramatically sprawled over the seat of his chair like one of Dali’s melting clocks. “Baba, baba, baba--”

“I’m so, truly sorry,” Kun says, looking slightly pained.

Ten giggles quietly. “It’s fine. What can I get you? I’ll bring it over in a second.”

“A caramel soy latte for me? And apple juice for Yangyang, if you have it.”

“Coming right up.” Ten winks.

He bites the inside of his cheek to keep the smile from splitting his face when he sees how Kun blushes in response.

.

Ten walks the drinks over to the father and son pair, and Kun thanks Ten quietly for the latte, his cheeks a little rosy from the heat of the afternoon sun beaming in through the windows. Yangyang thanks Ten less quietly, reaching up with both arms in order to hug Ten around his waist and press his cheek against Ten's apron-covered tummy. “Thank you, Gege!”

“Yangyang, what did Baba say about hugging strangers?” Kun says gently but sternly, his voice dropping to a lower register than usual.

“But Gege is Gege!” Yangyang argues, pushing out his bottom lip and crossing his arms across his chest.

“Yeah,” Ten laughs. “We know each other, now. Definitely not strangers, right?” As though to emphasize his point, Yangyang takes hold of Ten's hand and beams a smile up at him from his seat, and Ten's little heart spasms so hard he thinks it could burst.

“Now he's going to forget all about his stranger danger lesson.” Kun shakes his head in mock disappointment.

“No, Yangyang won't forget!” the kid says proudly. He takes an exaggerated breath and launches into a nursery rhyme complete with hand movements, including a wagging finger and an accompanying head shake, all in Mandarin, that has Kun chuckling and staring fondly at his son.

“That's right,” Kun says, sipping at his latte with a nod when Yangyang finishes. A little bit of foam clings to the Kun's upper lip, and he licks it away with a swipe of his pink tongue.

“I'm sorry, what was that he was singing? Could you repeat that?” Ten asks innocently.

Kun flashes him a knowing look of disbelief. “It's a children's song about running away from strangers and yelling very loudly and finding a familiar adult if they don't leave you alone,” he explains succinctly.

“I'm sorry, I don't think that quite captures the essence of the lesson you want Yangyang to take away from it...can you show me the song again?”

At once, Kun's grin turns playful and bright, easily shaving five years from his appearance in a second. “Oh, you want me to sing the song?” he teases. “You want me to sing it?”

Yangyang shakes Ten's hand in unfiltered glee. “Yes! Baba, sing it!”

Ten chuckles. “Yeah, Baba. Sing it.”

The dusting of pink over Kun's cheeks reminds Ten of fallen cherry blossom petals in the botanical gardens in early Spring. Delicate but rich in color. He wonders if he brushed the pads of his fingers over Kun's cheeks, would the skin feel as soft as the flower petals or would he come across bristle, stubble on the tip of his chin and jawline. Kun's eyes glitter in mirth. His lips part. He draws in a breath.

The bell above the door rings, and Ten turns abruptly as though broken from a trance, Yangyang's hand still in his.

Oh, yes. Customers. His coffee shop. His business.

He turns back to the duo with a slight frown. “Saved by the bell,” he whispers to Kun. To Yangyang, he gives his hand another squeeze before letting go. “I have to go back to work, but if you need anything, I'll be right over there.” He points to the counter, where a customer is waiting patiently.

“What about if I need something?” Kun asks, amused.

Ten pretends to consider him, sniffing once in fake disdain and wrinkling his nose. “I suppose I could help you, too.”

“How about I call you? Or text, whatever you prefer.” Kun winks.

The action makes him look devilishly handsome, and Ten gasps, caught off guard by the other's sudden question and air of confidence. He feels his cheeks heat, his heart beginning to beat loudly in his ears. “You could -- do that."

“Great,” Kun says. He sits back, relaxing into his seat, tension releasing from his shoulders as the smile over takes his face  “That's great. I'll get your number from you before we go?”

“Sounds good!” Ten agrees squeakily, before skittering off to attend to the customer at the counter.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kun is kind of a smooth operator???


	3. Chapter 3

“I can’t believe that in the 15 minutes I was gone, you flirted with the hot single dad and promised him your number. What’s next? When my shift is over, you’ll have moved in with him!”

Ten hip-checks Mark behind the counter and the boy stumbles with a surprised squawk, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek as he teases his boss. The kid might be taller than Ten but his limbs are gangly and he's one of the most uncoordinated people Ten knows (hence, the careful attention Mark pays when carrying drinks over to customers), so it takes a moment for Mark to right himself and find his balance again. "Not so loud," Ten hisses, blushing furiously.

Kun and Yangyang are still at the table in the corner, Kun nodding along to whatever story Yangyang is telling him enthusiastically. Based on the wild hand gestures and crashing noises coming out of his mouth, Ten guesses it's something about planes and cars again.

"He _is_ hot," Mark says. "In like a very put-together, old-man kind of way. Not that he's old. He just gives off that vibe, you know? Wise. Steadfast. I bet he wears sweater vests in the fall. Oh, maybe black turtlenecks and fur-trimmed coats in the winter! Is he rich? He looks rich. Look at him!"

"Please go check on the beans in the roast," Ten orders in as patient a tone he can muster, flashing a frozen smile at a paying customer who walks up to the counter. Mark grins cheekily and goes to check on the machines behind them, emptying out the sandy, clumpy grounds from their batch this morning and scooping more coffee beans into the machines to be roasted and ground. He hums to the pop song playing overhead. Ten turns back to his register and sighs. "Hi, hello. What can I get you today?"

He takes the customer's order and writes it on a paper sleeve of a cup for Mark to make. A couple more customers enter, and soon enough they're too busy with orders for Ten to pay much attention to Kun and Yangyang in the corner, though Mark does catch him staring a few times.

.

The bells above the door ring loudly, and Ten almost launches himself over the counter when he sees Yangyang throw himself off his chair and sprint over on his little legs to the tall stranger who enters the shop. But then Kun is standing with a wide smile stretched across his face, and the stranger is swooping down to swing Yangyang up into his arms.

"Oh my god, look at how big you got!" the man says in slightly accented English.

Ten lowers the heels of his feet back onto the ground, shiftily avoiding looking directly at Kun in case the other man saw that Ten was fully prepared to tackle this stranger to the ground inside of his shop if it turned out he was trying to kidnap his child. He picks at a loose thread at the end of his sleeve, surreptitiously stealing glances at the scene near the door.

The first thing that Ten notices about this stranger is that everything about him is Big. Big eyes, big, pouty mouth, big ears that stick out slightly from the sides of his head. But when everything comes together, somehow the combination makes for an incredibly charming, attractive face. Ten can’t shake the feeling that he’s seen his face around before. The stranger’s shoulders are broad and wide, and he seems to settle Yangyang against his hip with familiarity and ease. A pang runs through Ten's chest, but he squashes it down.

"Uncle Xuxi!" Yangyang squeals, throwing his arms around the man's neck.

"You little monster." Uncle Xuxi pokes Yangyang in the belly and Yangyang giggles into his shoulder. “Giving your dad a hard time?”

“No!” Yangyang protests, which is when Kun meets them by the door, still smiling, and the man called Xuxi pulls Kun into a warm, tight hug with his other arm, complete with a long sigh, Kun’s hands clenched against the small of his back.

“It’s been a long time,” Kun says quietly when he pulls away, and Xuxi murmurs something in return, bouncing Yangyang on his hip. They laugh over something Kun says in Mandarin, and Xuxi answers in English. Then Kun curls his hand around Xuxi’s hip and pulls him over to the corner table, where they sit across from each other, Yangyang small in Xuxi’s lap. Everything about their interactions screams familiarity, and Ten wonders how long they’ve known each other. What they are to each other.

“I, uh, think that spot’s clean,” Mark says next to Ten suddenly. Ten jumps, shooting Mark a withering glare. Mark just looks down at the counter, where Ten was mindlessly rubbing a rag in circles over a spot of now-shiny wood near the register.

“Y-yeah,” Ten sputters as his mind tries to catch up to the knowing smirk forming on his employee’s mouth. “The counter’s very dirty.”

“Sure, boss,” Mark agrees readily. “Hey, he just came in. Why don’t you go over and see if they want anything? Or go on _your_ break and talk to them? I can take the counter.”

“I’m the boss and I don’t need a break.”

Mark rolls his eyes and knocks his hip into Ten’s, effectively displacing him from behind the register. Ten pretends to be stunned.

“Everyone needs a break,” Mark says. His eyes turn pleading. “ _Please_ go talk to them. You are being so, so, so, so, so obvious.” He punctuates each _so_ with what feels like a sleight-of-hand trick. First _so_ and he’s untying the apron from Ten’s waist, then he’s removing it from over Ten’s head, messing up Ten’s lilac hair and getting the string caught on one of Ten’s earrings in the process. And then he’s folding it up haphazardly and stuffing it into a cubby under the counter.

Ten pouts. “It’s gonna _wrinkle_.”

“Ten!”

“All right! Fine. You bully me so much. You and Taeyong and Sicheng. All my friends are mean!” He sniffs and crosses his arms, stomping out from behind the counter as Mark laughs and tells him, “It’s because we love you.”

Which always kind of makes Ten’s heart stutter before going completely soft and useless in his chest. And then after stomping halfway across the floor he sees Kun and the slant of his pink mouth and the brightness behind his dark eyes and all the fake anger masking his nervousness melts away and he’s left with fidgety hands alternating playing with the long sleeves of his shirt and twisting the stars in his earlobes.

“Hey,” Kun says, in a tone that makes Ten think of freshly brewed coffee, warm cookies, sunlight streaming in through open curtains.

“Hi,” Ten says. He nears the group, and Xuxi, who’s bouncing Yangyang on his knee, looks up at him with a big smile on his face.

“Ten, this is Xuxi. Xuxi, Ten.”

Xuxi holds his hand out and they shake. Even Xuxi’s hands are big, his palms surprisingly soft. “It’s nice to meet you!” Xuxi says excitedly. “Kun-ge told me about you.”

“He did?” Ten blinks. What's there to tell?

“Oh, yeah, totally.” Xuxi turns back to Kun, leaning slightly forward over the table and beaming from ear to ear. “What was it you said? That you thought you met someone…?”

And Kun _blushes_. The tops of his ears flush scarlet so suddenly that it’s like they’d been dipped in dye. The red blooms across his cheeks, too, and down the column of his neck. “Xu--! _Ni--_!”

Xuxi laughs, a kind of barking sound, with his head thrown back, and Ten feels something in his chest relax. Yangyang looks between his dad and his uncle and smiles the way a child smiles when they know something is funny but they’re missing the point.

Ten decides to swoop in to save Kun further embarrassment. “Well, he didn’t tell me yet about you…? How do you know each other?”

“Ah, you didn’t tell him about me?” Xuxi asks, still laughing. “Your best friend? Pretty much the only other person you know in this city?”

“It didn’t come up,” Kun mumbles, looking down at the table with a forlorn expression. “ _And I know other people, please._ ”

“We know each other from college in Hong Kong,” Xuxi explains with his eyes trained on Ten again.

Something clicks into place. “Oh,” Ten says, pointing at Xuxi. "Prada."

Xuxi’s grin -- if possible -- widens. “Yeah! Hey, you saw the ad? Yeah, I did a shoot with Prada. The photos are up in the store in Soho.”

“You’re a model,” Ten says.

Xuxi shrugs and says, “Eh.”

Ten pulls the sleeves down over his knuckles and curls his fists into the fabric of his shirt. Kun’s best friend is a model. Xuxi is tall, and handsome, and good with kids, and sweet, and probably pretty well-off, and suddenly Ten can’t help but feel small and insignificant. Jealousy has nothing to do with it.

It’s just a visceral reaction he can no longer control.

Well, Taeil seems to think that one day his gut response to anything that happens in his life won’t be _I really suck_ but it’s been a year and still on most days he wakes up and that’s his default mode. His friends help, and the shop helps, and distance helps, but Ten often thinks of himself as a clunky robot that can’t keep up with new programming. No matter what code people try to instill in him, he still goes back to his old, faulty wiring.

It’s a work in progress.

Actually, whatever Taeil’s got him doing must be working a little bit because at least now he recognizes those twisty, fluttering, sometimes nauseating feelings in his gut to be those of acute worthlessness. Doesn’t mean he always knows what to do with these feelings just yet, but in this moment, visualizing them being crumpled up into a tiny ball and burying the ball in the farthest corners of his mind seems to do the trick.

Ten smiles, not quite sure if it reaches his eyes. “The ads are really nice,” he says quietly. He turns to Kun. “Hey, that reminds me. Are you a model, too?”

Kun’s eyes widen. His cheeks are still tinged pink. “Me?” he asks, as though he couldn’t fathom it. “Oh, no. I’m not a model. I’m a professor.”

“A professor?”

Xuxi excuses himself, leaving Yangyang in his seat. He returns with a chair for Ten, and Ten thanks him before sitting down with them. Yangyang returns to Xuxi’s lap, little fingers playing with the red-stringed necklace around Xuxi’s neck.

Kun puts his elbow onto the table, leaning into it. His knee jiggles under the table. “Yeah. I’m starting a position at NYU this fall. Chinese professor. I taught in Fuzhou, a high school, but I think...university students here will be different.”

Ten laughs, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Mark, who’s dutifully handling a customer’s order at the counter. “Ask that kid. He’s in college now.”

“Mark? He’s a good kid. Business-minded. As soon as he met me and Yangyang, he asked if I’d need babysitting help.”

“Don’t. He’ll corrupt Yangyang!”

Kun’s eyes glitter when he laughs. “I’ve already booked him for Sunday evening,” he explains. “Xuxi and I have dinner plans.”

“ _Yerim_ has dinner plans,” Xuxi interjects meaningfully. “Xuxi wants to stay home in pajamas and play video games, but Yerim wants to try this new Korean place out in Flushing that’s opening up this weekend.”

“And what Yerim wants, Yerim gets,” Kun finishes for him.

Xuxi nods solemnly. “Fiancee,” he explains to Ten when he sees the other’s lost expression.

“Congratulations.”

Xuxi’s grin goes soft and gooey. “Thanks.”

They chat a little more about the place they’re going to on Sunday, and the conversation veers into restaurants around the city that Xuxi and Ten recommend Kun absolutely has to try, and then Ten is telling them about Taeyong and his soon-to-be-opened restaurant, and then they’re back to Sunday and Yerim’s obsession with going to restaurants on their opening weekends. Ten is sure it’s been much longer than his allotted 15 minute break, but Mark hasn’t complained yet, and Ten’s the boss, so.

Yangyang appears to be napping against Xuxi’s chest, which is probably why Xuxi has been quiet for a while now, and it’s a slight surprise when Xuxi clears his throat to get the group's attention and flashes Kun the time on his phone. “Hey...sorry. It’s almost our reservation. Should we get going?”

Kun blinks owlishly at Xuxi. “Reservation?”

“Lunch? The whole reason I came down all this way?”

“Oh! Right. Lunch. I’m sorry, I completely forgot.”

Xuxi smirks in the same way Mark smirked at Ten earlier. “Yeah, do you wanna…? I can go ahead, tell them you’re running a few minutes late. I’ve got a kid with me so they’ll be nice. If you want to finish up here?”

“Don’t be silly, just go!” Ten says at the same time Kun says, “Yeah, that would be great. Thank you.”

Xuxi’s still smirking as he exits the shop, leaving Ten’s ears to burn.

“I just,” Kun starts hesitant, licking his lips and taking out his phone. “Wanted to get your number?”

“Oh, yeah.” Ten takes Kun’s phone and inputs his number into his contacts, texting himself so that he has Kun’s number, too. Their fingers touch when Ten gives him his phone back, and Ten jumps like he’d been shocked. Outside, the sun is warm and heavy in the sky, the air forming waves above the sidewalks in the heat, but inside it’s cool and it smells like coffee and Kun reaches out to touch his hand over the table, and this time there’s no shock. Just Kun’s fingers gentle over Ten’s.

“You’d better go, or you’ll lose your reservation,” Ten says, like an idiot.

“Yeah,” Kun says. His smile could make flowers bloom. “Xuxi can wait a couple more minutes.”

.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s hard to focus after Kun leaves, especially since Mark keeps making kissy faces at him when the customers aren’t looking (also sometimes when they are). Ten has to throw his rag at him more than once to make him stop, and after the third time when Ten realizes Mark is making his own game of it, he tries to ignore him instead, leaving them both sulking and working at opposite ends of the counter. When Mark can’t take the distance anymore, the teasing starts up again, and so it continues, until it’s early evening and the sun has sunk low over the city, spilling golden light through gaps in the skyscrapers and in through the cafe’s long, large windows.

“Has he texted you yet?” Mark asks, going over the back counter with cleaning agent, wiping down surfaces. Their last customer left just minutes ago, and Ten has already changed the sign on their door to  _ Closed _ .

Ten pulls his phone out of the kangaroo pocket of his apron with a sigh. He hasn’t really checked it since lunch, and though he’s felt it buzz a couple of times against his belly, a strange gnawing anxiety had prevented him from looking at the screen. It kind of feels like there’s a big worm in his stomach, wriggling around, and it’s still there squirming as he holds the little black machine in his hand and presses the home button to turn on the display, illuminating his notifications.

A handful of text messages from Taeyong and Sicheng, an Instagram notification from his sister Tern, and a couple of other random chats and alerts from the apps he has downloaded populate the screen. He scrolls through them quickly, liking the post his sister uploaded with a photo of his niece -- almost two years old, now -- making an extremely frowning face at a section of pineapple being presented to her. He lets Taeyong know he’s coming straight home after closing up the shop, and tells Sicheng there’s no way he’s going to go through the twenty links to the random cat videos he’s sent him over the past few hours. Sicheng immediately sends back the crying face emoji, which Ten  _ likes  _ before sliding his phone into the back pocket of his shorts.

“No, he hasn’t,” he says, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. Kun’s been busy. He had lunch with Xuxi and Yangyang, and he’s probably with them still. Maybe Xuxi is helping Kun with his son. He imagines them over at Kun’s place, sat on the sofa in front of a television blaring some kids show as Yangyang plays with his toy cars and planes on the carpet. The adults may be having a glass of wine with each other, the way Ten and Taeyong would some nights to wind down. He pictures that smile on Kun’s face, the one that makes his eyes glitter, and Xuxi’s laughter, full and rich. 

Xuxi is beautiful, though not in the same way Kun is beautiful. Where Ten thinks of Kun’s beauty as something soft and subtle, like the way your body warms slowly and wonderfully in the winter when you crawl under the covers, Xuxi’s beauty is striking. Obvious. He’s a model, after all.

The butterflies in his stomach feel more like hummingbirds. It's been a while since Ten has felt like he could be interested in someone -- almost two years, really, since landing at JFK, and that's not counting the years before that. He's forgotten what it feels like to be hopeful that someone likes you in the same way you like them, that sweet optimism coupled with uncertainty and self-doubt. Ten has gone on a couple of dates since arriving back in New York, but nothing had sparked from them, maybe because of Ten himself and his reluctance to put himself out there again, but maybe not, and after the fourth or fifth miss Ten had silently resigned himself to a quiet life surrounded by friends and tagging along to Taeyong and Doyoung's relationship through to their inevitable marriage, early marriage life, and first dog.

But Kun. He feels different. And that both excites and terrifies Ten.

“I’m sure he’ll text soon,” Mark says. He throws his arm around Ten’s shoulder, startling him from his thoughts. “And if he doesn’t, I’ll give him a piece of my mind when I go over on Sunday to babysit his kid.”

“Please don’t do that.”

“Fine! I’ll give him a very stern talking to,” Mark quickly amends, an impish grin on his features. “How’s that?”

Ten feels his lips twitch involuntarily at the corners into a smile as Mark pulls him in closer, and he shrugs and says, “If that’s what you decide to do, I guess I can’t stop you.”

.

The lights are on in the kitchen when he gets home, but there’s no Taeyong standing in front of the stove fretfully stirring a pot of stew on one of the burners with one hand and trying to sip the consomme he’s been working on in another pot with the other hand. Instead, there’s an open paper takeout bag on the kitchen counter and a half empty bowl of rice. Ten frowns at the short pile of bowls and dishes he finds in the sink. It’s not like Taeyong to leave anything in there.

“We got you some Pad Thai,” Doyoung says, suddenly appearing on the other side of the kitchen counter, through the wide window that lets you see into their living room. He’s got a can of light beer in hand, and his lips are red as rose petals.

Ten jumps a foot in the air at his voice, accidentally slamming his hip into one of the handles on a drawer. “Ow, shit,” he hisses, glaring at Doyoung and rubbing at the sharp pain flaring from the impact. “Don’t sneak up on me.” Doyoung grins, his teeth eerily bright against the darkness of the living room beyond him. “Were you just sitting there in the dark?”

Doyoung lifts and drops shoulders lazily. “Watching something on my laptop,” he explains. “Sorry that I scared you.”

“Where’s Tae?” Ten goes to the paper bag on the counter and peers inside. A plastic takeout container of Pad Thai sits at the bottom waiting for him.

“Passed out in bed,” Doyoung says. “He’s been running on 3 hours a night for basically the whole week. I told him I’d make sure you got in okay.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Ten says, feeling his shoulders hunch up in embarrassment. He’s not a kid who needs to be reminded of curfew.

“I wanted to finish the show I’m watching. Yongie thinks I’m writing.”

“Shouldn’t you be?”

Doyoung shrugs again, and then leans forward onto the counter with a pinched expression. “Sometimes, it’s hard to catch that inspiration. And then sometimes...you’re ten episodes into a Netflix series with two more to go.”

Ten snorts. He takes the food out of the bag, turning to pull open the drawer containing their silverware and plucking a fork from inside. “Mind if I sit with you?”

.

It's kind of hard to follow the thread of the episode since they’re so deep into the series already, and Ten hasn’t seen any of it before. Something about kids with special abilities, a really old dude trapped in a little kid’s body, and the apocalypse. A lot of shows are about the apocalypse, so Ten just digs into his slightly soggy Pad Thai and listens for the dark humor dotting the dialogue. 

He keeps thinking about Kun. 

Still no text from him. 

Should he text him first? Is that what Kun is expecting? 

Dipping his toe into the uncertain waters of getting to know someone after so long keeping himself at arm’s distance from anyone new has him feeling a bit like he's staring into the depths of a swirling, dark ocean.  What if Kun is busy? Or what if Kun just wanted to see if he could get Ten’s number and not anything past that? He wonders what Kun told Xuxi about him. Good things? Bad things? Did he tell Xuxi about the purple hair, the earrings? How weird it is that Ten wears long-sleeved shirts in the summer? How Ten’s slightly higher-pitched voice makes him sound like he’s always whining, just a little bit? 

Ten shakes his head, looking down at his noodles. He’s barely eaten anything, but his stomach feels full, and his chest feels a little tight. He knows the thoughts he’s having aren’t good ones, but he can’t keep them from popping into his mind. An explosion on the screen of Doyoung’s laptop makes splashes of color flicker before his eyes, and his ears start ringing. He puts the Pad Thai down on the coffee table and sinks back into the couch, hugging his arms to his stomach.

Doyoung hits the spacebar on his keyboard, and the screen freezes. He looks at Ten with a dip in his brow. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“Something off with the food?” Doyoung asks. “We can complain and get a refund.”

“No.” Ten lets himself close his eyes. He just needs to think of something else. Get out of the downward spiral of thoughts before the whirlpool drags him under. He pictures himself in a canyon, clawing his way slowly out of it, scrabbling against the walls. 

Doyoung shifts on the couch. Ten can feel the movement, but he’s not sure if Doyoung has shifted closer or farther away. “Should we get Yongie?”

Ten hums, considering it. But Taeyong needs his sleep when he can get it, especially nowadays, and this is nothing. This is just Ten being a little sad that a man he likes maybe, possibly, potentially doesn’t like him back. Grade school stuff. “I don’t think so. Thanks, though.”

“I know we’re not as close as you are with Yongie, but you can talk to me, too, you know.”

Ten opens an eye. Doyoung’s frown is subtle, his face open and sincere. He’d shifted closer, and not farther away. “I know,” Ten says, smiling. “Thanks. It’s stupid. I’m just waiting for someone to text me, is all. Let’s finish the episode?”

“Ah, the Waiting Game,” Doyoung says sagely. “I understand that completely.” He presses play.

.

This is how Ten knows he's in a dream: 

The shower curtain is a deep, rich indigo (it had been green). The cabinet under the sink has no knobs (he remembers how often the little silver knobs had come loose with use). The window above the toilet is striped with bars -- metal, jagged things like teeth (there hadn't been a window at all). He looks into the mirror above the sink, his image fractured in the broken glass, his cheek bruised, his lip split, but his face is dry of blood. There’s no blood (there had been blood).

Someone is pounding on the bathroom door, yelling garbled words through the flimsy barrier. Ten looks down, and there’s a knife in his hands. He drops it, surprised, and it clatters to the floor. The door bursts open. On the other side is a black hole. A whirlwind of nothingness, its edges blurred and awful. It makes a noise like a thousand screams, and moves toward him in pulsing, jarring increments. It lashes out and knocks Ten back against the edge of the tub, and the back of Ten’s knee catches on the raised lip. He stretches his hands out to try to grab the curtains, but they are flimsy, immaterial things. His fingers pass through the plastic and fabric like he’s a ghost. He yells, cracks the back of his skull against hard tile, the sharp sound echoing off the walls, and the black hole descends on him. 

Swallows him whole.

Ten wakes with his hands clutching the blankets around him, his skin sticky and chilled with sweat, his breathing ragged and his heart beating so fast and hard in his chest that it physically hurts. He touches the back of his head with one hand. It’s dry. He checks his fingers in front of his face. No blood. Nothing. He’s fine. Ambient light filters in through his blinds from outside. A car drives by on the street, playing music loudly on its speakers. He waits for the music to fade into nothing, and then he rolls onto his back, still panting for breath, and throws the blankets off of him, feeling like he’s suffocating.

He checks his phone on his nightstand. It’s half-past four in the morning. With a groan, Ten pushes himself up onto shaky legs and stumbles out of his bedroom into the living room, making his way slowly to the bathroom. 

His stomach feels tight from skipping dinner and his heart is still pounding. He touches the back of his head again, just to make sure. Still no blood. He turns the bathroom light on and catches sight of his own face in the mirror. 

“Shit,” he whispers, holding himself up against the edge of the sink. The shadows under his eyes are deep, and there’s a line forming between his brows that remains even when he’s not actively scowling. He runs the tap and sticks his hand under the cold water that spills into the basin. The chill connects him to this moment, and he watches the water run over his fingers and swirl down the drain. Then, he leans over and cups the water in both hands, splashing it onto his cheeks and rubbing it in with a shuddering sigh.

In the mirror, he notices that their shower curtain is pulled completely shut. Panic flares hot and searing in his gut. Ten straightens, turns around and flings the curtain open, even though he knows there won’t be anything but their shower products behind it.

But he just has to check. He has to make sure. 

When all he sees is the cool gray tiles lining their shower, his knees give out, and he sinks to the floor, sitting with his back pressed against the cabinet under the sink, the water still running, his pulse finally starting to slow.

Later, Taeyong finds him there in front of the sink, hugging his knees and resting his cheek on them. “Hey, sweetie,” Taeyong whispers, shutting off the water before squatting down in front of Ten and reaching out to brush the hair back from his forehead that had fallen in front of his eyes. 

Ten blinks and inhales, unsure how long he’s been staring off into nothing. “Sorry,” he says. “Did I wake you?”

“It’s a little after five,” Taeyong says with a gentle smile, still slowly carding his fingers through Ten’s hair. “We would have woken up in another hour anyway.”

“Bad dream,” Ten whispers, even though he knows he doesn’t need to explain. Not with Taeyong.

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Taeyong says, quiet and warm, like he could wrap his voice around Ten's shoulders. “Want to try to get some more sleep, though? In your own bed?”

“Yeah.” Ten nods against his knees, letting out a pathetic sort of whimper. “Please.”

Taeyong shifts and stands, holding out his hand for Ten to take, which he does. “Shh, it’s okay. Just try to sleep for a little longer, okay?”

Ten sniffs. “Okay.”

They make their way to Ten’s bedroom together, and Taeyong sits on the edge of the mattress as Ten tucks himself back under his covers. Once settled, Ten reaches for Taeyong’s hand and squeezes it, wanting his friend to know how grateful he is for him. “You’re the best,” he says.

Taeyong smiles, squeezing back. “Don’t let Sicheng hear you say that. He’ll get jealous.”

“It’s too bad. It’s the truth.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Ten.”

“Get some sleep,” Ten says.

“You, too.”

Ten lets go, and Taeyong leaves, closing the door behind him quietly. Ten exhales slowly, sinking into his mattress. He really doesn’t think he’ll be able to fall back asleep, especially with sunlight already starting to creep in through the blinds, but it’s better for him to zone out here under his covers than on the bathroom floor. He picks up his phone from the nightstand to check that his alarm is still on just in case he  _ does  _ end up falling asleep, and is surprised when he sees new notifications.

From Kun.

He nearly drops it onto his own face when it buzzes again with another text. What’s  _ Kun  _ doing up at five in the morning?

_ anyway, just wanted to ask! _ Kun has sent.

Puzzled, Ten brings up the rest of his notifications and sees the thread of messages left by the other, and as he scans the texts, a low chuckle escapes his mouth.

_ Hi! _ Kun wrote.

_ It's me, Kun! _

_ You probably knew that. I meant to text you yesterday but Yangyang had a meltdown after lunch with Uncle Xuxi because we couldn't find his favorite car toy (we found it!). _

_ I wanted to ask you if we could hang out sometime? Outside of the shop, and maybe even without Yangyang? I want to get to know you.  _

_ Maybe this Sunday… would you like to come to dinner with and Xuxi and Yerim?  _

_ by the time you see this, it'll be morning I hope! Oh god and you'll see I've left you like twenty messages…sorry about that. _

_ anyway, just wanted to ask!  _

_ No pressure! :) _

Ten reads the messages all the way through a couple more times, not quite believing it. Does Kun really want to get to know him? Because Ten really wants to get to know Kun. Really, really badly.

His thumbs hover over the screen of his phone, and holding his breath, he responds.

_ No pressure? _

Kun’s answer is almost immediate.  _ Woah! It’s five in the morning?! How come you’re awake this early? _

_ I have a shop to run, _ Ten types, the lie coming easily. Old habits die hard. _ What’s your excuse? _

_ I love my son but this is literally the only time I can get away from him and have Kun time :)  _

Ten snorts to himself.  _ What’s Kun time? _

_ I exercise! And try to get some work done.  _

_ Oh, I thought you were going to say something else. _

_ Like what? _

Ten pauses, chewing on his bottom lip, and decides to change the subject. _ Tell me more about Sunday? _

_ We’re going to that new Korean place in Flushing! I know it’s kind of far but Yerim says it’ll be worth it.  _

Ten thinks about it. On the one hand, he’s thrilled Kun has asked, that he’s interested. On the other hand, he’s not sure he’s ready to dive right into something new like this, meeting Kun’s friends before he even really gets a chance to know Kun himself.

Plus, getting out to Flushing on a Sunday, with the subway lines always under construction one way or another, will be a nightmare.

As though sensing his hesitation, Kun sends:  _ Or, if you’d rather, maybe we can meet up for coffee sometime this coming week? Not at your cafe ;) _

Ten breathes out a sigh of relief. 

_ Yeah, coffee sounds great! I want to meet your friends but...maybe not yet. Is that okay? _

_ Of course! What days are good for you?  _

_ Usually Thursdays? _

He could ask Mark to come in a little earlier than usual to cover the cafe starting mid-morning. Mark never says no to a couple more hours of work and pay, as long as the hours don’t conflict with classes. The thought that maybe Ten needs to hire another part-timer briefly crosses his mind.

Kun texts:  _ Perfect! Would early afternoon work? I can ask Xuxi to look after Yangyang then. _

_ Perfect :) _

_ Okay, I’ll find a place! _

Ten holds his phone face down against his chest, heart fluttering. It’s cute how excited Kun seems, how eager and sweet. He tries to keep himself from imagining the ways this could all break down and fall apart, to keep himself in the present; he wants to hold onto this hopeful, swooping feeling in his chest for as long as he can.

.


	5. Chapter 5

“You sure you don’t want to call Mark in?” 

It’s the third time this morning Taeyong’s asked as they set up the shop, and this time Ten rolls his eyes and sighs in exasperation in response. He finishes tying the strings of his apron behind his back and smooths down the front panel. “I’m not going to keel over, Yongie. I’ll be fine.”

“But if you’re tired, or not up to it, you can take a day. Close the shop if you need to. Take a break.”

“Or I could not,” Ten mumbles, feeling a pout coming on. He goes to open the back door to the kitchen to let out all the hot air from the oven being on all morning. They've been roasting in the back of the cafe for hours, the air conditioner mounted in the small window above the sink only doing so much to offset the heat. He pulls at the long sleeves of his shirt, the color a soft lilac like his hair, uncomfortable. Today’s going to be a scorcher; he can feel it already. 

“Ten.”

“Taeyong.”

Taeyong pulls the last batch of perfectly baked, golden and flaky croissants from the oven and slides the tray onto the counter for the pastries to rest with all the other trays of muffins and cookies. He turns the oven off, then turns to Ten with his hands on his hips, a scowl twisting his lips. The arches of his eyebrows look especially sharp today. Is it because he woke up in the middle of the night to tend to Ten in the bathroom? Ten shifts away from him subtly, and then figures they're done in the kitchen anyway, and heads out into the cafe proper to start setting up the machines.

“You’ve been weird all morning,” Taeyong says, following him out of the kitchen. “I mean other than the nightmare. You almost put salt in your coffee this morning. You keep zoning out. You walked out of the apartment without your shoes!”

“Thank you so much for reminding me.”

“I’m just worried. Was it a bad one?”

“They’re all bad,” Ten says dramatically, leveling Taeyong with a look. Taeyong has the awareness to look abashed, cheeks coloring. “And no, I don’t think it’s that, anyway.”

“Then what is it?” This time Taeyong is the one who juts out his lower lip in an imitation of Ten’s pout. “You know I won’t leave you here alone until you spill whatever it is that’s making you all twitchy. What if you spill coffee all over a customer today? What then, huh?”

Ten faces the counter and takes a deep breath as the screen of the tablet lights up, the register turning on. He watches it load and taps his password into the field that pops into view. “Kun and I are getting coffee,” he says quietly, the words barely making it past his lips. Like if he spoke them too loudly they’d take shape and flutter away, never to be seen again. And Kun asking him for coffee would have been nothing but a dream. 

“What?” Taeyong asks. “Kun? The cute dad?” 

“The cute dad.” Ten nods in agreement.

“Oh my god.” Ten startles a little when suddenly Taeyong is crushing him in a hug, arms wrapped around his waist. “Sorry, sorry,” Taeyong says when he feels Ten jump. “I just thought it was something else. I’m happy for you! You’re excited? Of course you’re excited. He’s cute, you’re cute. You’re getting coffee! A date!”

“Yeah,” Ten says, laughing weakly. He folds his hands over Taeyong’s and stays close when Taeyong pulls away with his eyes slightly narrowed in suspicion.

“You’re not excited?”

“I am, I am!” Ten says quickly. Maybe a little too quickly. Taeyong’s mouth puckers as his expression hardens. To Ten, it’s a familiar look, the way he gets when he’s ready to take Ten’s side in absolutely anything, except there aren’t really any sides here. Ten’s just nervous. That’s the fluttering feeling in his stomach that hasn’t stopped since this morning, that’s made it so hard to concentrate, that will probably be the source of a couple of burns today as he makes dozens and dozens of coffee orders for his customers. So he says, “I’m just.  _ Maybe _ . A tiny bit. Nervous.”

Taeyong’s eyes light up. “Oh.  _ Oh _ . I see. Well, when’s the date?”

“Thursday.”

“You’ve got plenty of time!”

“Yeah, plenty of time to be in my own head about it. Overthink it. Maybe I should just call it off. Save him the trouble. It’s not going to work out, anyway, you know? So why bother. He’s just really cute and sweet, and his kid is adorable, and he’s a professor. Did I tell you that already? He’s starting this year…” Ten swallows before he can continue to ramble, looking at Taeyong the same way he might look at the headlights of an oncoming truck while standing in the middle of the road. 

Meanwhile, Taeyong’s gaze is soft, his hands on Ten’s shoulders gentle. “Please don’t call it off,” he says. “You clearly like him. And he likes you, too. Else he wouldn’t have asked.”

“He likes me  _ now, _ "  Ten offers as rebuttal. “He probably won’t once he gets to know me.”

“I got to know you and I still like you plenty.”

“W-well,” Ten stutters, unsure what to say to that. His cheeks heat. The scars on his arms itch under the fabric of his shirt, and he tries not to scratch at them. In the past, Taeyong hadn’t been so forthcoming with his affirmations, but being with Doyoung has brought this affectionate, nurturing side out of him, and now he layers Ten with kind words as though to blanket him from an ever-present chill. Ten’s not used to it still; it makes his brain go blank suddenly, like a plug yanked from its socket. Lights out.

“See? You can’t argue with  _ my  _ feelings. They’re valid. And they like you.” 

“Shut up,” Ten mumbles. But he’s grinning. Taeyong pulls him in for another hug, gentler this time. He smells like butter and cinnamon from the muffins he made before the croissants. The warmth he exudes feels like home.

“I have to go, but text me if you need anything?” his friend asks. “Doyoung mentioned he might swing by, too. He’s got this article he has to write and he can’t seem to concentrate in any of his usual haunts.”

“He’s always welcome here. As long as he’s a paying customer.”

“Stingy much?”

“I’m a small business owner,” Ten says, faking a wounded tone. “Support your local shops.”

Taeyong ruffles Ten’s hair as they part, and then he tugs on his earlobe. “Bye, okay?”

“Please get out of here.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Love you, too, ornery little man.” Taeyong turns the sign over on the front door as he leaves, and Ten’s cafe opens for business.

.

Doyoung comes into the shop a little past mid-morning and sprawls his things over two chairs at the window counter in the front before strolling with a bundle of flyers and rainbow-themed stickers in his hands to the coffee counter to greet Ten.

“Stopped by the Center on the way here,” he explains. “Mind if I put some stuff up?”

“Of course.”

He leaves the stickers at the counter by the register, and Ten stacks them into neat little piles. One pile of rainbow flags, one pile of rainbow hearts, and one pile of a rather phallic shape -- still covered in rainbows -- which Ten decides to put under the counter. He can leave those out on open mic nights for the over-18 crowd. At the community board in the back, near the restroom, he sees Doyoung pinning up some flyers for upcoming events being promoted or hosted at the Center, adding to the flyers of yoga and art classes filling up the space like a mosaic. Ten looks at the rainbow heart stickers and takes one from the top, peeling the backing off of it and sticking it to the top right corner of his apron. 

When Doyoung returns, he grins at it. “Not wearing your heart on your sleeve?”

“Is that the best line your big writer brain could come up with?”

“I’ve only had the one coffee this morning, okay? I’m just warming up.”

“What do you want, then?”

“Can I get a soy latte? A double. No, a triple. No. A double.”

“Double soy latte, coming right up.” Ten punches the order into the register and swivels the screen around for Doyoung to pay. Doyoung moves with him along the counter as Ten readies his drink. “Were you doing anything at the Center? Or just really stopping by.”

“There’s a new director starting in a couple weeks. I’m hoping to get an interview, do a write up. Just a small piece. It’s good to keep the community updated.”

Ten slides Doyoung’s drink over to him in a ceramic mug in the shape of a unicorn, its tail making the curved handle. He’s drawn a cat’s face in the foam. “Okay, but what about the piece you’re writing for Billboard?”

“Ugh, it’s coming together,” Doyoung grouses. Clearly, it’s a topic that’s already been exhausted this morning. He takes out his phone and quickly snaps a picture of his latte, unicorn and all. His fingers work over the screen as he posts it to his Instagram. Moments later, Ten's phone buzzes in his apron pocket with the notification.

Ten raises his eyebrows. “Not the way Taeyong describes it.”

Doyoung slides his phone into his back pocket and picks up the mug, plastering a wide grin on his face. “Anyway! Taeyong told me you have a date,” he announces cheerfully, changing the topic with all the subtlety of a bulldozer. “So that text you were waiting for came through?”

“Guess so.” Ten shrugs, outwardly expressing nonchalance while his insides bubble with anticipation. 

“Our little baby is growing up!”

“I’m literally three and a half weeks younger than you.”

“Leaving the nest so soon...the apartment will feel so empty without you…”

“I’m not leaving!” Ten laughs at Doyoung’s ridiculousness, and Doyoung sips at his drink, gaze fixed on middle distance as though lost in thought. “I pay half the rent on that place, in case you forgot.”

“Sometimes, I can still hear your voice…”

“Stop spending all your time on the internet looking at memes and write your article, Kim Doyoung.”

The other man scrunches his nose and curls both hands around his mug, shoulders hunching. “It’s part of my research!”

“Sounds fake.”

“Ugh, you’re worse than Yongie.”

“Yongie  _ loves  _ you,” Ten reminds him, pointing at the counter where Doyoung has left his things. “He wants you to succeed in life. Stop procrastinating and get over there and write, or he’ll come at  _ me  _ for distracting you for so long.”

“Ugh,” Doyoung says again, but moves away all the same, settling himself onto one of the bar stools in front of the window. Ten watches as he pulls his laptop out of his messenger bag and plops it onto the wooden counter with a little less care than Ten would have liked, but when he opens it, it turns on just fine. The writer throws a glance over his shoulder at Ten as he cracks his knuckles and fixes his fingers over the keys as though to say,  _ see? I’m doing it. _

Ten gives him a supportive thumbs up. Another customer enters. She orders an iced tea blend, and one of Taeyong’s muffins. Then another customer, and another.

.

A little past noon, Ten looks up from the sandwich he’s fixed himself to eat when he hears a familiar pattering of tiny footsteps at the door. Sure enough, Yangyang is running to the counter with his little arms spread wide, dressed adorably in a bright yellow tank and blue shorts, a white bucket hat on his head. 

“Gege!” Yangyang shrills, nearly slamming into the counter in his excitement. Luckily, Ten is able to duck under the barrier quickly and Yangyang slams himself into Ten’s knees and shins instead, hugging his legs.

“Yangyang!” Ten returns with equal enthusiasm.

Yangyang looks up at him, grinning hugely. “Did Gege miss Yangyang?”

Ten sucks in a breath, feeling a bit like he could burst from how cute this little kid is. “Yes, Gege missed you very much.”

A shadow falls over them both. “What about me?” Kun asks.

Ten raises his eyes and suddenly it feels like all the blood has rushed out of his brain. Kun stands in front of him with his hair artfully tousled and pushed back by a pair of sunglasses resting over the crown of his head. His cheeks dimple with the force of his smile. He’s wearing a pale blue tank and shorts the color of a burning sunset. But back to the tank, because his  _ shoulders _ . Kun’s bare shoulders, rounded and muscled, out for Ten to see and admire. 

“Mmhmm.” Ten nods, not trusting himself to speak. Kun clearly takes care of his body. He’s fit and lean, but there’s also a soft quality to his musculature that Ten can _really_ appreciate.

“We’re going to the park again,” Kun says. Yangyang still holds onto Ten tight, cheek pressed against Ten’s belly. “Yangyang wanted to stop in.”

“Just Yangyang?” Ten asks slyly, recovering himself.

“Well,” Kun says, stepping closer. This close, Ten realizes he actually has to tilt his gaze up to meet Kun’s, just slightly. “Maybe I did, too.” Kun’s eyes flick to the sticker on Ten’s apron, then to the piles of stickers on the counter. “Can I take one of those?”

“You can take all of them,” Ten blurts. He blushes. “I mean, yes.”

Kun laughs. “I’ll just take two. One for me and one for Xiao Yang.” He puts one of the rainbow hearts on his chest and gives the other one to Yangyang to try to put on himself. The backing gives the kid trouble, and after three grunts of frustration, Ten takes it from him and peels the sticker for him. Yangyang sticks it on his tank over his belly button.

“Yes, that’s the perfect spot,” Ten says to him.

Yangyang beams, and when Ten looks up again, Kun is smiling at him fondly. Ten blushes again, remembering how in three days, he’s going to be getting coffee with this man. Without his kid. Alone, on a date. 

“Are you,” Ten manages, “um, going to order anything?”

“Just an iced coffee for me, thanks.”

Ten detaches himself from Yangyang and ducks back under the counter again to fix Kun his drink, and as he does so, he watches as Kun pays and then kneels in front of Yangyang and points at the little rainbow sticker on their shirts. “You know what it is, baby?” 

“Rainbow!” Yangyang shares, throwing his arms up into the air as though in celebration.

Kun chuckles and nods. “Yes, and it means something else, too,” he says quietly. “It means love.”

Yangyang gasps. He says something in Mandarin that makes the tips of Kun’s ears go red. Kun says, “Maybe. Not yet,” and Yangyang nods like he’s a sage monk rather than a loud, hyperactive little kid.

Ten clears his throat. “Do you want any room for milk?”

Kun straightens, and Yangyang sticks to his dad’s side like glue. “No, that’s okay. Thanks,” Kun says. He takes the drink from Ten, ears still pink. Ten finds the way the flush travels down his neck and disappears into his tank fascinating. “Does Thursday still work for you?”

The question makes Ten want to giggle like he’s back in middle school ogling a crush. He manages not to embarrass himself and just utters with a smile, “Yeah.”

“Great,” Kun says. “Great. I’m looking forward to it. I’m still looking up places. I mean, the coffee has to be at least as good as yours, right?” He winks, and Ten’s heart skips all over the place in his chest in response.

“R-right,” Ten stammers.

“We’ll see you soon. Say bye, baby.”

“Bye bye!” Yangyang waves his hands, bouncing a little by his father. He looks just about ready to start running in circles, full of energy. Kun waves, too, his dimples out and proud. Ten almost feels a gravitational pull toward them as they leave, and his gaze remains trained on the door for moments after it’s closed behind them.

“So,” Doyoung says, appearing sneakily at the end of the counter and holding the unicorn mug in his hands. The grin on his face is wicked. “Your type is hot dads, huh?”

.


	6. Chapter 6

On Sundays, Ten closes the cafe early in the afternoons because in the summers, this means he gets to soak up hours and hours of sunlight after work, and in the winters, it means he gets to head home before it's completely dark out. Today, it means he's trying to shoo Dejun from his shop at 2:58PM before Dejun can place an order.

"I'm closed," Ten whines to the younger man.

"Not for two minutes!" Dejun insists. "C'mon, this cafe is like the only place where I can write for some reason, and I've got it all in my head and it's ready to come out! You won't even notice I'm here. I'll sit very, very quietly in the corner with my headphones on." He pouts and makes sad eyes at Ten, but given Dejun's sharp face structure and even sharper eyebrows, Ten's heart is not quite moved. "Just one hour!" Dejun adds when he sees that Ten remains unimpressed. He holds up his index finger.

Ten purses his lips, tapping the toe of his right foot against the floor behind the counter, and sizes the kid up. Dejun is an NYU student, same as Mark, but in a different school at the university. They didn't know each other until Mark started working at the cafe and finding Dejun blockaded in the corner behind two laptop screens multiple times a week. A tenuous friendship had formed, strengthened through a shared love of lyricism, sappy poetry, and music.

Now, though, Ten thinks Dejun uses his relationship with Mark to get into the cafe and take over his favorite corner whenever he wants. He knows on Thursdays, Mark will often stay late if Dejun is around, and they'll just write in the cafe together instead of in the school's library until much too late into the night. Once, Ten opened the cafe in the morning to find them still inside, Mark sleeping behind the counter on a yoga mat that he must have dug out of the closet and Dejun propped against the wall in his corner, mouth slightly open, remnants of ink on one cheek. After that, Ten made them both promise never to stay in the cafe past 11PM unless there was an event, and if they _really_ needed a place to sleep, Ten and Taeyong's apartment was just a few blocks away.

Dejun puts his hands together in a pleading prayer.

Ten says, "The display cases could use a clean," and Dejun claps and cheers before pausing, stilling with his fist still raised in the air in celebration.

"Wait, what?"

"You want to use this space after closing hours, you can work for it," Ten says, cocking his head and flashing the other a satisfied grin.

"I could work...here?" Dejun asks.

The grin falters. "No, that's definitely not what I said."

"But I could totally work here," Dejun insists, eyes widening at the realization. "I work really well with Mark! And he was saying the shop gets so busy sometimes..."

"I'm not looking for another part-timer," Ten says.

_ "Yet _ ." Dejun nods to himself. "Okay, fine. I'll clean the display stuff! For an hour of time here past closing. So can I stay?"

Ten sighs and tells him he can. He has to stay for a bit anyway to close out the register, clean up, check inventory, and a hundred other little things that have been added to the list throughout the week. Rent's due soon, and he'll have to look over all his financials. The cafe's been doing well, so he's not worried, but the actual administrative aspects of running a business have never been his favorite part. No, Ten's more about the joy on people's faces when they try his custom drinks for the first time, and the laughter filling up his cafe as people reconnect. It  _ would  _ be nice to have more help, he muses. Not only for his sake but for Mark's, too.

Dejun situates himself in his favorite corner, and Ten realizes belatedly that it's the corner where Kun and Yangyang usually sit when they're here, as well. He chuckles, imagining them trying to vie for the table at the same time.

One hour later to the minute, Dejun pushes himself back from his laptop and folds the screen down, standing up and groaning as he stretches.

"You can work a little longer, kid," Ten offers from his seat behind the counter. He'd been lost looking at his accounts in a spreadsheet on his tablet for the past hour and the time had passed quickly. He pushes his glasses up to sit higher on the bridge of his nose.

"I'm good!" Dejun says cheerfully, packing up and slinging his bookbag onto his shoulder before walking to the counter to meet Ten. "Got it all out," he says, grinning.

Ten can't help but grin back, Dejun's energy contagious. He seems giddy, his cheeks a little flushed. "Okay," Ten says slowly, taking his glasses off now and placing them carefully next to his tablet. He looks up at Dejun with a knowing expression. "What's got you so worked up? Writing a love song?"

"No!" Dejun protests too quickly, cheeks flashing pink. "It's just something I want to try to perform at the next open mic night."

Ten wracks his brain for the faces of those who frequent his open mic nights. A couple of familiar ones stand out, but he can't recall if Dejun is close with any of them. Hm.

"I can clean now," Dejun reminds him.

"Oh, right!" Ten stands and goes to the end of the counter where they store their cleaning products, and Dejun follows him, dutifully listening to Ten when he explains which products to use and what to do with the dirty rags when he's done. "You know, you don't actually have to do this."

Dejun snatches the spray cleaner and rag from Ten with a scoff. "Please, I am a man of my word."

.

Dejun is still working on the display cases when Mark texts Ten.

_ Do you want to see cute pictures of Yangyang while I'm babysitting him? _

Ten laughs quietly and removes his glasses again. He shuts the screen of his tablet off and turns on his phone, fingers massaging the bridge of his nose to help keep the headache forming between his eyes at bay.

_ Mark, _ Ten sends.  _ That would be a little weird. Shouldn't you send them to Kun instead? _

_ Okay, I see what you mean. But what about this? _

He waits for the image Mark has sent to load, and his heart flutters at the sight that appears: Kun holding Yangyang in his arms, standing before an open fridge door. Yangyang is pointing at a container in the fridge with a bright, impish grin on his face, and Kun looks _incredible_.

The place they're going must be on the trendy side, because Kun's wearing a fitted black v-neck, hair styled up and back again to reveal his undercut, and earrings glitter in his ears. Ten swears he detects a hint of eyeshadow and lip color on Kun's face. He looks good enough to eat.

"Oh, who's that?"

Ten curses and slips his phone back into the pocket of his apron, but he knows it's already too late when he looks up at Dejun to find him lurking over his shoulder and smirking. The kid has no business looking so smug, and Ten knows now  _ his  _ cheeks are pink.

"None of your business," Ten says automatically.

"He's hot," Dejun points out.

Ten lets the air in his lungs slowly out through his nose, never breaking eye contact with the younger man. "Yes," he admits finally. "He is."

"My mom would tell me to trap a man like that," Dejun says.

Ten turns to him in shock. "I don't -- I don't want to  _ trap  _ him!"

"That wasn't a dating app photo you were looking at, which means he -- or someone else -- sent you that photo." Dejun hums in thought, scratching at imaginary stubble on his chin. "So you like him, then," Dejun surmises.

"Okay, detective. Can you please stop hanging out with Mark?" Ten asks, face burning as his phone buzzes multiple times with more incriminating texts. "I liked you better when you just wrote sappy love songs and showed me pictures of your puppy. Mark's changed you."

"Or maybe _I've_ changed Mark," Dejun says. He lifts one eyebrow elegantly, the arch high and proud. "You know, he did mention to me he was babysitting tonight and that it was for a hot dad."

"Does  _ everyone  _ know him as Hot Dad?"

Dejun's grin spreads, and he leans onto the counter next to Ten. "So this is Hot Dad, then?"

Ten scowls in response, nose wrinkling. "Are you done cleaning yet? Can you go?"

"C'mon, give me a little something here! You're one of my favorite people and I think it's cool that you're like, interested in someone. Ever since I started coming to this shop like this time last year it's just been  _ work, work, work, work, work _ all the time." He sings  _ work  _ like in the chorus of that one Rihanna song and swivels his hips in time to the words, lighting up when Ten laughs at him. “So is he nice?”

Ten sighs, giving in to Dejun's questions and pulling his phone out of his pocket. He pulls up the picture again and shows it to Dejun properly this time. “Yes, I think so,” Ten says, with fingers crossed.

.

Mark doesn’t send him any more photos after that, but he does share a couple of cute Yangyang-related updates as the evening wears on. First it’s:  _ Did you know Yangyang can’t say yellow? He keeps saying it like yewol and it’s the cutest thing in the whole world. _

Then it’s:  _ He remembered that we know each other and keeps asking me if you’re my DAD!!!! What should i tell him?!? _

And finally:  _ He’s napping. I don’t think he should be but how can I wake him up he’s just a lil dumpling?  _

Ten gets home and showers, washing off the day’s grit and grime, and then as his hair’s still dripping water into his eyes he rummages through their fridge and cabinets for some food that he can slap together and call dinner, and only manages to find some leftover rice and two eggs that haven’t gone bad yet. He makes a mental note to go grocery shopping soon. For an apartment rented by two people in the food industry, their kitchen is embarrassingly sparse, save for when Taeyong is testing new recipes for his restaurant. He fries the eggs and tops the rice with them, drizzling everything with some soy sauce. Then he sits down at the coffee table in the living room and pulls out his tablet again, hoping to finish reconciling some numbers he noticed were off earlier before the evening is done. 

When the screen starts to blur in front of his face, Ten puts his tablet down and presses his palms against his eyes before shifting his attention to the sky outside, finding that the sun has started its slow summer descent to the horizon line. It’s nearing 9 in the evening and still the sky looks like the inside of a conch shell. 

Suddenly, his phone vibrates loudly on the couch cushions, and Ten jumps, almost causing his phone to bounce to the floor. He catches it before it takes a dive, and sees that it’s Mark, FaceTiming him. In the screen, Ten instantly recognizes the panic in Mark’s wide eyes, so he answers immediately, worried. “Hello? Mark, you okay?”

“I dunno, I dunno,” Mark says quickly, and now Ten can hear Yangyang sobbing loudly from his spot cradled against Mark’s chest. They appear to be sitting on the couch, with Yangyang’s face hidden in Mark’s neck. “Kun wasn’t answering and I didn’t know what to do!”

“Hey, it’s okay. What’s wrong?” Ten asks, trying to keep calm and not imagine the worst.

“He woke up from his nap and I think he got scared? I can’t calm him down. I thought maybe you…”

“Yeah, I can try,” Ten says. “Can you get his attention?”

Mark tries, with one hand, to move Yangyang so that he’s no longer planting his face in his neck and instead looking at the camera on his phone, and Ten wishes he could reach through the screen to hold the kid when he sees his splotchy, reddened cheeks and puffy eyes. His whole face is wet, and he’s dripping snot from his nose. His hair is plastered to his forehead in messy pieces. 

“Xiao Yang,” Ten coos in a soft voice, remembering hearing Kun call him that once. He pulls out all the Mandarin he thinks he can remember. “Look at Ten-Ge, Xiao Yang.”

Yangyang rubs at his face with his hands, mouth still twisted in a cry, but he blinks at him. “Gege,” he sobs. He continues in Mandarin also, “Where’s Baba?”

“Baba…” Ten trails off, piecing the sentence together in his mind bit by bit. “He’ll come back soon. He went to see Uncle Xuxi. Mark will take care of you.”

At the mention of his name, Mark grins and bounces Yangyang in his lap, and the kid actually cracks a smile at that.

“Baba didn’t disappear?” Yangyang asks, laying his head on Mark’s shoulder. His thumb goes to his mouth. It takes a moment for Ten to understand the phrasing for ‘disappear’, but it clicks when he sees the characters in his mind. 

“No, baby, he didn’t,” he says, shaking his head. “He’ll be back soon…”

That seems to be the limit to Ten’s Mandarin, but something about being able to have a short conversation in his first language calms Yangyang down enough for his sobs to turn into the occasional sniffle against Mark’s shoulder, and soon enough, Mark is distracting Yangyang by blowing raspberries on his twig arms. Yangyang laughs and giggles, and the sound warms Ten better than a full meal on a cold night. 

“Let’s say bye to Ten, now,” Mark suggests. “We can watch a movie until your Dad comes home, how about that?” Yangyang cheers and prattles off a title in Mandarin, and Mark stutters, “Y-yeah, sure. We can watch that one. Can you find it?”

Set with a mission, Yangyang slides off the couch and goes to look for the movie, and Mark turns the camera for the phone back onto his own face. “Thanks, Ten,” Mark says sincerely. “Hey, I didn’t know you could speak Mandarin!”

“Not very well,” Ten says.

“Well, it’s still better than mine! Seriously, though. Thanks. Good night, yeah? Don’t stay up too late!”

“I should be saying that to you.”

“We’re both adults here,” Mark says, sticking out his tongue and ending the call with that image frozen on the screen.

Ten throws himself down onto the couch. He can’t bring himself to look at anymore numbers on his tablet, so he puts on a show instead, something that’s been on his list to watch for ages. Two episodes in, Taeyong returns home smelling like garlic and chilies, his footsteps heavy. He showers and comes out to join Ten on the couch, and uses Ten’s lap as a pillow for his head.

“Long day?” Ten asks, carding his fingers through Taeyong’s hair, recently dyed pink.

“Why did you not stop me when I said I wanted to open a restaurant?”

“Because you’ve wanted to open one since high school, and it’s all you’d ever talk about in college,” Ten says. “And now you’re doing it.”

“I’m finally doing it,” Taeyong mumbles. “Even if it kills me.”

“It won’t kill you. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

Taeyong reaches for Ten’s hand and Ten gives it to him. “You are, too,” Taeyong says quietly.

“Okay,” Ten whispers, eyes filling up alarmingly quickly at the simple statement. He pushes it all down. “Let’s just finish this episode, Yongie.”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise we'll get to their date soon!! sorry ;A;


	7. Chapter 7

Ten wakes up to a text from Kun that sets his heart pumping much too quickly first thing in the morning. A couple of feelings surface for him at once: surprise at the question, uncertainty at how best to respond, and nervousness about Kun’s intentions. So he does something he does very well and probably much too often -- he ignores the text for now, and goes about his usual morning routines. Kun sent the text late last night, anyway, and probably won’t expect Ten to respond for a couple of hours yet.

So he has a couple of hours to ruminate over the simple question. He thinks about it as he’s brushing his teeth, as he’s staring at his own reflection in the mirror, foaming at the mouth. He muses over the words, the spaces between the characters, trying to find their hidden, shadowed meanings as he changes into a long-sleeved white shirt and pale denim shorts, his hand brushing over the curved scar sitting above the sharp jut of his hipbone before he lets the fabric of his shirt fall around his waist.

He hasn’t opened the text yet, just saw it flash across his screen in his notifications, because he knows if Kun knows he’s read it, he’ll expect an answer sooner.

Or will he? His breath flutters, uneasy in his lungs, as he catches himself entertaining old thought patterns.

Kun’s not asking him where he is, or who he’s hanging out with, or when he’ll be back home. He’s not telling him to come back, or else. He hasn’t smashed Ten’s phone against the kitchen floor for trying to call his sister.

“Hey, Ten?” Taeyong knocks and waits for Ten to hum before opening the door to Ten’s bedroom, peeking his head inside. “Want to head out together?”

“Of course,” Ten says, lifting his head and putting a smile on his face. Taeyong’s gaze drops to Ten’s waist, where Ten realizes he’s been rubbing his hand over the scar there, under his shirt. He stills, caught, and tries not to make a big deal out of it. “10 minutes, Yongie?”

“Sure.” Taeyong nods, clearing his throat and raising his eyes to meet Ten’s. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Ten says. “All good.”

Satisfied, Taeyong steps away from the door but leaves it slightly ajar, and Ten spends the next couple of minutes making sure he’s got everything in his tote for the day and dabbing some light makeup onto his face. In the bathroom, before the mirror, he reads Kun’s message again and pretends it’s the first time he’s seeing it, letting the giddy excitement he’d felt he needed to contain bloom out from the center of his chest, warm and soft and as tender as new flower petals.

 _Thank you so much for talking to Yangyang_ , Kun’s message says. _How are you with surprises? For Thursday!_

Ten types out his response.  _It’s no problem! How’s he doing?_ After a moment’s consideration, he adds, _And I love surprises that don’t involve anything popping out at me or scaring me...should I be worried?_

_Guess I’ll have to cancel our haunted house tour!_

Ten grins, biting into his bottom lip. He’s finding that Kun’s sense of humor walks the line between extremely lame and very corny, and he kind of loves it.

 _But really,_ Kun sends quickly after, _nothing scary involved, I promise! Just think of it as coffee still, plus a lil something extra~_ _Oh, and Yang’s good! He and Mark were watching his favorite movie when I got home...I gave Mark a nice tip for all his troubles._

 _And where’s my tip?_ Ten types out. His thumb swipes over the ‘send’ button before he can second-guess himself.

 _You’ll just have to wait until Thursday~_ Kun teases, and it’s silly how a couple of words on a small, rectangular screen can make Ten’s blood rise in temperature, coloring his cheeks. He catches his own pinked skin in the mirror, and then notices how his hair is fading from lilac to gray to blonde in some patches. It’s time to dye it again. Maybe a different color this time?

Taeyong pushes the door to the bathroom open, then, his expression wavering between exasperation and concern. “Go?” he asks quickly, not needing to speak in full sentences when it’s just the two of them.

“Was thinking about dyeing my hair,” Ten explains as the blush fades from his skin, though the heat lingers like sunburn. “Blue? Back to black? Pink?”

“Like mine?” Taeyong points to his own light pink hair, so light his hair is almost white at the very ends. It looks good on him though, his hair soft and the color delicate, juxtaposed with the sharp lines of his face.

“No way,” Ten says, crinkling his nose. “Mine will look much better.”

“Brat,” Taeyong says affectionately before turning and waving for Ten to follow behind him. “C’mon, let’s go or we won’t open in time for the morning rush. And going back to black might be nice. Give your hair a break.”

Ten sticks his tongue out at Taeyong’s back, darting after him. “Like you should talk!”

.

Sicheng comes over on Tuesday for dinner and to help Ten dye his hair.

“You only ever invite me over nowadays when you need something,” Sicheng complains, brandishing a bottle of rose wine from his tote and leaving it on the kitchen counter, hands already reaching for the drawer where he knows Taeyong and Ten keep the corkscrew. He’s dressed very practically in a black tank and gym shorts, ready to get his hands messy with dye. Ten suspects that the gym shorts are actually Yuta’s -- Sicheng’s been wearing a lot more Gym Clothes as Real Clothes when he's not meeting clients and ever since moving in with his boyfriend of 4 years.

“Not true!” Ten counters. “I’m feeding you, and the other day, you came over and we chilled. We watched something together!”

“And also rearranged the living room a bit, if I recall.”

Ten hesitates and then nods, deflating a bit at the reminder. “Okay, but that was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I didn’t invite you over with that intention. I just wanted to hang out!” Ten stirs at the rice in the pan with a bit more aggression than totally called for, a fresh cloud of curry spices rises up and perfumes the air.

Sicheng inhales appreciatively. “Curry fried rice?”

“Mmhm,” Ten hums.

“It’s cool, anyway; I’m happy to be your handy-person until you find someone else who can lift heavy objects for you.” Sicheng finds the corkscrew and nudges the drawer closed with his hip. With an ease that Ten won’t admit he’s jealous of, he pops the cork from the top of the wine bottle.

“Best-handy- _friend_ ,” Ten emphasizes, pointing at Sicheng with the spatula. “You know I love you.”

Sicheng grins and helps himself to two glasses in the cabinets above the counter, starting to pour healthy servings of wine into them both. “Speaking of love--”

“Not too much before dinner, friend,” Ten suggests. “I don’t want my dye job to turn out a mess.”

Sicheng stops pouring, and continues, “--what’s this I hear about a date?”

Ten’s face heats up, and it’s not from hovering over the steam rising from his big pan of fried rice. He inhales too quickly and the aromas from the spices get lodged in his nose and throat, and he reels back, coughing and choking on air. He manages to put the spatula safely down on the counter as Sicheng watches on, amused, nonchalantly sipping from his glass of wine.

Instead of helping, he hands Ten his glass, and Ten takes it with a glare that has no anger behind it. “Thanks,” he rasps. The wine is a cool and welcome relief down his throat, dampening the sharp bite of the spices he inhaled. Okay, so maybe that was helpful after all. Ten decides to play dumb. “What date?”

Sicheng rolls his eyes. “Taeyong told me _all_ about it, so don’t bother trying to hide it. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

Ten’s shoulders tighten reflexively. “I didn’t mean not to tell you,” he says. “I just didn’t know how to...talk about it.”

“You could have texted me or called me, like… ‘Hi Sicheng! I have this date I’m really excited for this week! I’m nervous-slash-excited-slash-exhilarated!’ You can fill in with any appropriate adjective there.”

Ten picks at the long sleeve of his shirt, fidgeting with the guilt building up in his bloodstream. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I should have told you.”

Sicheng stills with a sigh, quickly noticing Ten’s change in demeanor. “You’re telling me now,” Sicheng says easily. He leans over to turn the burner off under the pan Ten’s cooking in so that nothing catches on fire. “It’s fine. I’m just teasing you. You can tell me these things, you know? I’m interested. I want to know.”

“I know you and Yuta are busy planning for things--”

“I’m still your friend, though,” Sicheng insists. “You can tell me whatever you want to tell me, and you can invite me over just whenever. You don’t have to make up excuses for us to hang out, okay?”

“Okay,” Ten says in a small voice, grin sliding onto his face. “Tell me you love me.”

Sicheng sighs again, louder and more exasperated. “Ten--”

“Do it! Please, I wanna hear it. Say it, Sicheng.”

“I love you,” Sicheng grits out.

“Jeez, make me believe it, huh?”

“I love you,” Sicheng says without clenched teeth, tops of his ears turning slightly pink. “Ugh, is the food ready yet?”

“Yup!” Ten says cheerfully, beaming now. Teasing Sicheng like this always makes him feel light and bubbly. “And I’m going to fix you a plate because I love you, Sicheng.”

Sicheng snatches up the bottle of wine and keeps his grip tight around his own half-empty (or half-full!) glass. “And I’m going to sit on the couch and drink.”

.

Approximately four hours later, Ten's hair is black and almost dry, bangs flopping over his forehead. It looks…

“Good,” Sicheng says for him, rubbing the towel briskly over his head again and making his hair stand up in odd places and pieces. “It looks good! Ah, brings me back to college.”

“Don't get all nostalgic on me,” Ten says, pouting at Sicheng's reflection in the mirror over the sink. Their voices resonate inside the bathroom.

“Says you, the Pisces.”

“Does it really look okay?” Ten asks, pinching a couple of black strands between his fingers and lifting them from his scalp before letting them fall. “Feels weird.”

“Weird how?” By now Sicheng is carding his fingers through Ten's hair, testing out how a side part looks, testing if Ten should have a visible part at all. His hair _has_ gotten a little long, and a part is kind of necessary, or else Ten won’t be able to see through the curtain of his bangs covering his eyes. “Come down to the salon for a cut soon.”

“Just weird like...boring,” Ten explains. “Oh god, I look boring!”

Sicheng laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners as he brushes Ten's hair to the side so that his bangs loosely frame his face. “I promise you that you don't look boring. Have you _seen_ you? Kun is gonna love it.”

“I didn't say anything about Kun,” Ten squeaks out too quickly.

“Yeah, in the last twenty minutes, maybe. You said plenty about Kun and his smile and his quote, ‘hot but approachable dad aesthetic,’ over dinner and not enough wine.”

“It really wasn't enough wine,” Ten agrees sadly. “We should probably have more.”

“Okay, but first, you have to let me post a picture.”

“Fine,” Ten huffs, pretending to be very inconvenienced by the request. He poses for two pictures and then, after checking them over, makes Sicheng take half a dozen more. Sicheng posts one to his personal Instagram that they both agree shows off his best angle, light glancing off his cheekbones and hair artfully tousled.

Almost immediately, Ten’s phone chimes with a notification, and then another, and he checks them as Sicheng puts away the dye kit and heads back out into the living room.

 _TEN,_ his sister has messaged through Instagram. _YOU SAD?!_ Then there’s a link to Sicheng’s post. _CALL ME NOW._

Lisa’s message is much less dramatic. _You look smokin’ hot,_ she’s sent. _Bangkok sucks without you!!_ Followed by a string of emojis that Ten doesn’t have the attention span to decipher right now. He sends Lisa a quick message of thanks and asks her when she’s planning to visit again, even though it’s only been a few months since her last trip to New York.

 _Soon!_ she promises.

To his sister, Tern, he sends: 🤡

Then he calls her.

She picks up almost immediately, launching rapidly into question after question in Thai. “What the hell, Ten! What’s wrong? Why’s your hair black? What happened? Where’s Taeyong?”

“Relax, Tern,” Ten coos at her in English, chuckling when he hears her harsh exhalation on the other end of the line. “Everything’s fine. I’m fine. The purple was fading…”

“You haven’t had a sudden drop in mood?” Tern questions, sounding suspicious. “Who’s with you, hm? Is it Sicheng?”

“Yeah, Sicheng did it for me.”

“Damn, it looks good.”

Ten laughs, running his fingers through his hair again, checking himself out a little bit in the mirror. Sicheng really did a great job, making sure the color is even all around. It looks pretty much like his natural hair color, and the strands feel soft to boot. “Thanks.”

“What’s the occasion?” Tern asks.

Ten bites into his bottom lip, finally heading out of the bathroom and shutting the light off behind him. He finds Sicheng on the couch in the living room pouring out two more glasses of wine for them. Should he tell his sister about Kun? But if he tells her, she’ll freak out, and if she freaks out, then he’ll freak out, and he really doesn’t need any additional fuel to be added to the fireball of nerves inside of him at the thought of their date in two days. “It’s nothing,” he decides to tell her, promising to himself that he’ll let her know about Kun if the date goes well. “The purple really was just going, and I wanted a change. How come you’re up so early?” he adds at the end, smoothly switching the focus of the conversation to Tern. “You and Lisa both,” he realizes.

“Ha!” Tern laughs. “You think I _sleep_? With a two-year-old in the house? Ha!”

“What about Mom? Isn’t she helping you with Sorn?”

“Mom and Dad are in Singapore this week,” Tern reminds him. “And then they’re in Taiwan next. And then they’ll probably decide to go to Europe.”

“And your husband?”

“Hong Kong!” Tern wails. “But don’t worry, Lisa’s staying with me for the week since he’s gone, and she’s great with Sorn.”

Ten plops onto the couch next to Sicheng and accepts the glass of wine from him. Then he places his phone on the coffee table, pulling up the call menu options. “You’re on speaker,” he lets his sister know, “and Sicheng’s here, too.”

“Sicheng!” Terns calls out gleefully. “How’s it going? Just three more months!”

“Don’t remind me,” Sicheng grumbles, sinking back into the cushions and gulping down the wine. “We’re not ready at all.”

“Yuta doesn’t strike me as a planner, so I guess it’s all on you, huh,” Tern points out.

“He has strong feelings about the cake,” Sicheng says. “But that’s about it.”

“It’s going to be incredible,” Ten assures Sicheng. “What matters is that you love each other, and that you’ll be celebrating that with all the people who love you both, too.”

Sicheng groans.

“Marriage is a wonderful, wonderful thing,” Tern says, just as Sorn starts crying in the background.

They hear Lisa’s voice calling from the distance, followed by a crash. “Tern!”

“Shit, gotta go,” Tern says quickly. “Love you, Ten.”

“Love you, too.”

“Yeah, gross,” Tern quips, and then hangs up.

Abruptly, it is quiet. Ten drinks peacefully from his glass of wine, feeling both lazy and accomplished tonight. Next to him, Sicheng finishes his drink.

“So,” Ten begins with a kittenish grin gracing his lips, “tell me about your plans?”

.

On Wednesday night after he comes home from the cafe, it dawns on him that he has no idea what he’s going to wear tomorrow. Kun had asked if it would be okay for him to come by the cafe tomorrow to pick him up so they could go on their coffee date, and Ten had stupidly said yes, meaning he’d have to get ready for their date _at the cafe_.

What was he thinking?! He supposes he can bring some of his makeup with him to freshen up in the bathroom before Kun arrives, if needed, and he can bring a change of clothes just in case tomorrow decides to be a disaster and he spills coffee all over himself in the morning as he’s serving drinks. Which is highly likely, given just thinking about seeing Kun tomorrow is making his hands shake. And all he’s doing is standing in front of his closet, fretting over his wardrobe.

Everything is awful. Plus, he has nothing to wear! A pile of discarded outfits sits on his mattress, and Ten looks at it and the dwindling amount of clothes still hanging up in his tiny, matchbox-sized closet and whimpers.

He hears the front door open. He waits a beat.

“Yongie?” he shouts from the safety of his bedroom.

“Yeah?” Taeyong shouts back. His footsteps near Ten’s door.

“Help,” Ten says pathetically, sitting down on the edge of his mattress on his pile of clothes.

Taeyong knocks and pushes his door open, poking his head in. “Help?”

“I have no clothes,” Ten explains, gesturing to his pile of clothes on the bed and those still hanging in the closet.

“You...do though,” Taeyong says slowly.

“I have no clothes to be dated in.”

“Now, that can’t be true.” Taeyong steps inside, heading straight to Ten’s closet and starting to rifle through the shirts hanging up inside of it. The pungent aroma of garlic mixed with peppers wafts through the door in his wake, and Ten wrinkles his nose.

“Wait!”

Taeyong pauses, hand frozen on the sleeve of a white button up, peering over his shoulder at Ten.

“You smell,” Ten says plainly.

“Gee, thanks.”

“I don’t want to show up at my date tomorrow smelling like garlic and peppers!”

“Maybe Kun will like that.”

“Not a chance I’m willing to take.”

“Do you want my help or not?” Taeyong stares him down, eyes round and bright and full of familiar truth. Ten swallows the protest building in his throat, and nods. Taeyong turns back around and flicks through Ten’s shirts again before his fingers deftly pluck out a pastel lilac button up with little hearts stitched into the corners of the collar. “You like this shirt,” Taeyong reminds him, holding it out for Ten to take, which he does. “Wear it with those cute white shorts you have. And you can wear your canvas shoes, or your sandals. Personally, I’d go with the shoes.”

Ten drapes the shirt over his front, still clutching the hanger, looking down over himself with a disapproving frown. “I don’t know…” He eyes the sleeves. They’re long, and have buttons at the ends. He could roll them up, but…

“Try it on before you shoot it down!” Taeyong reasons. “I’m taking a shower, and when I come back out, we’ll finalize your outfit. Oh, we can accessorize!” He bounds off with a skip to his step, clearly more excited about playing dress up with Ten than Ten is about it himself.

In college, he and Taeyong used to spend hours getting ready to go out. He used to dress up in outfits that showed off his bare arms and shoulders and tummy, used to shadow up his eyes and put glitter on his cheeks and make his lips glisten with gloss. With the makeup, sometimes he’ll still go all out, play with it, be creative. But the clothes? Showing off skin? He has no problem if others want to radiate in their own beautiful selves in whatever way they choose, but for himself, he’s just not comfortable with it anymore. He doesn’t like the way strangers stare at his arms, sometimes with pity, sometimes with disgust, when they’re out in the open and uncovered. Doesn’t like the lingering glances and double-takes at the scars that start at the dip between his neck and shoulder and disappear under his shirt collar. Hell, he doesn’t like looking at them himself. So he covers up.

Still, he asked for Taeyong’s help, and he wants to look good for Kun tomorrow. No -- more than just good. He wants to make an impression.

When Taeyong returns from the shower, smelling now of strawberries and vanilla, Ten’s standing in front of his full-length mirror hanging from the inside door of his closet in the white shorts that hug his thighs and the lilac button up. He’s been fiddling with the sleeves for the past ten minutes. Rolled to his elbow or not? Down and buttoned, he looks stuffy and a bit uptight. Rolled up to his elbows, the gnarled, knotted scar traversing across most of his right forearm catches the light. He hates it.

“You look really cute,” Taeyong assures him. He steps up behind Ten and curls his arms around Ten’s narrow waist, hooking his chin over his shoulder. His skin is dewy and glowing, freshly damp. He reaches out to cuff the sleeves back up, just loosely. “Here, that’s better.”

“You can still see it,” Ten whispers.

“So? He’s gonna be looking at your face the whole time, anyway,” Taeyong says. But he darts his gaze into the closet again, stepping back and plucking another shirt from clothes bar. It’s thin and light, long-sleeved, with blue and white nautical stripes. “If you’re uncomfortable, though, this shirt is cute, too. Summer-y and casual but still fun. Kinda like, ‘Oh, is the surprise going to be you taking me out on your yacht? Oh, Mr. Kun!’”

“His last name is Qian,” Ten corrects, a grin fighting its way to his lips. “But thank you, I love it. I’ll wear this instead.”

Taeyong smiles and claps his hands together. “Accessories, now?”

Ten gives in with a nod. “Accessories, now.”

.

Ten twists the turquoise stud in his third lobe piercing between his fingers, then the silver ball stud in his second. His fingers flit between the two as the time displayed on the screen of his phone flickers closer to 1:00 PM. He’s wearing little silver hoops in his first piercings, and a mix of turquoise and crystalline studs in all of his other piercings. Taeyong had a wild time picking every piece of jewelry out for him last night.

Mark came by around noon, and he’s already set up at the register and has taken over the counter, more than happy to pick up a couple of extra hours of work, so Ten had spent the last half hour or so applying fresh smokey eyeshadow on his lids to accentuate the shape of his eyes and a lip tint that stained his lips a peachy pink. He's switched his piercings around a dozen or so times.

Now, he’s behind the counter trying to look like he’s busy drying mugs but he’s really just watching the door. Kun will be here any moment now.

“Excited for your date?” Mark says suddenly at his side, making Ten twitch and drop the mug in his hands. Luckily, it just clatters to the counter and rolls in a sad circle, unharmed.

“Excited?” Ten repeats, picking up the mug and righting it in the ‘dry’ shelf before taking another mug from the tray still half full of wet ones. “Sure. Nervous? Yeah, definitely. Is it normal to feel like you need to throw up before a date? I haven’t gone on a date in a really long time. That could be normal.”

“It’s just butterflies,” Mark informs him with all the wisdom of a sage. “It’s totally normal.” Mark might be almost a decade younger than Ten but his words still carry the weight of experience, and it helps the jittery feeling in his hands and stomach calm just a little. “You look really pretty, by the way,” Mark says, making the jittery feeling skyrocket again.

“Thanks,” Ten manages behind flaming cheeks.

“You’ll knock him dead,” Mark continues with a glint in his eye. “He won’t know what hit him. Wow, these sayings are kinda violent, aren’t they? I just mean that he’ll be totally whipped for you after today. Damn. _Whipped_. Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Mark,” Ten says, amused. “Who’s to say _I_ won’t be totally whipped for him, too? Have you seen Kun? He’s like, so handsome. Especially when he styles his hair up...Actually it’s really cute when it’s all floppy around his face, too...God, and his lashes go on for miles…”

“Miles, you say?”

Ten turns at the familiar voice, yelps, and drops his second mug for the day, but it’s saved from shattering into pieces on the floor by landing heavily on Mark’s foot instead. Mark shouts in pain.

“Sorry!” Ten says frantically, waving at Kun who’s standing in front of the counter, watching the scene unfold. “Sorry! Hi! Oh my god, Mark, is your foot okay?”

“Ow,” Mark whimpers pathetically, shaking out his foot. Luckily, Ten has a policy that closed-toe shoes must be worn when behind the counter, so Mark’s foot has been saved from direct impact. “What if it’s broken!”

“It’s not broken, you big baby.” Ten swoops down to pick up the mug. “Does it hurt a lot?”

Mark tests his weight on it and shoots Ten a grin. “Nah, it’s fine. Go on your date. Just leave me to hobble around the cafe all by myself.”

“Are you sure?” Ten and Kun ask at the same time.

“Yeah!” Mark insists, pushing Ten away from him with a light shove. “Go. Kun’s waiting. With his mile-long eyelashes.”

“Shut up, he can hear you!” Ten hisses. He stalks away from Mark to the front counter, retrieving his tote from underneath. Kun’s leaning with his hip propped against the counter on the other side, a smirk on his face that has no business making him look as sexy as it does. His hair has indeed been styled up in that slightly tousled coif, revealing an undercut as sharp and sleek as the edge of a knife. He’s wearing a white linen button up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, slim navy shorts, and stylish tan and grey sneakers.

“Hey,” Kun says, “my eyes are up here.”

Ten’s gaze snaps back up to Kun’s face as he clutches his tote in front of his chest like a shield against Kun’s hotness. “I should hope so!” Ten jokes a little too loudly. "Hey -- we kinda match!"

But Kun laughs, flashing pearly white teeth, a dimple forming in his cheek. Ten’s heart decides then to thump with the force of a waterfall in his ears, and he misses what Kun says next, just sees his mouth moving, forming words. Ten shakes his head, coming around the counter and shouldering his tote like a normal person. “Sorry, what did you say?”

Kun waits for Ten to stand beside him to repeat: “I said, you look really pretty today, Ten.”

The compliment unleashes a brilliant smile that Ten can’t seem to hold back. His hands fly up to cover it, but he knows Kun can still see it behind his fingers. “You look really good, too,” Ten mumbles, embarrassed and a little giggly.

Kun floats a hand up near Ten’s face, pauses, his eyes seeking Ten’s for permission. “Can I?” he asks, and Ten nods even though he’s not entirely sure what Kun is asking for. Kun’s fingers curl over Ten’s hands, pushing them down from his face slowly. Ten lets one of his hands drop; the other stays in Kun’s grip, lowering and lowering until they’re holding hands by their hips, and Kun is smiling sweetly and stepping infinitesimally closer. Ten has to tilt his head up to look him in the eyes when Kun says, “That’s better. Your smile is really pretty, too. Should we get going?”

“Yeah,” Ten breathes out, following Kun close when he tugs on his hand. His knees feel like jelly, but his hand in Kun’s feels good, like burrowing under the covers after a long, hard day, snug and safe and warm.

.


	8. Chapter 8

“What’s this?” Ten doubles back when Kun pauses in front of a storefront on Broome Street. The robins-egg-blue sign hanging above the arched doorway reads “MarieBelle New York” in stylish brown letters, and the display window is full of artfully and precariously stacked gift boxes of fine chocolate. Ten turns to Kun with a question in his eyes. “This isn’t coffee,” he says slowly.

Kun’s hand tightens around his; they haven’t let go of each other since leaving Ten’s cafe, Ten realizes with a little thrill. “It’s not,” Kun admits sheepishly. “Surprise! Do you hate it? I mean, there’s coffee _inside_ but it’s not -- I just noticed you like a lot of chocolatey things from the cafe and thought--”

“I love it.” Ten interrupts Kun’s nervous rambling in a quiet voice, swinging their hands lightly between them. MarieBelle’s is known for their cacao and tea parlor in Soho, its interior decor rivaling the lavish walls of the Palace of Versailles. Ten’s actually been wanting to try it ever since he heard about it, but with the cafe and his friends being so busy, he’s never found the time to stop by on his own. And in Ten's opinion, an experience as lovely as trying a new chocolate store is much better when shared with others. The door to the shop opens as a customer leaves, and out filters the heavenly, decadent scent of cocoa. Ten inhales, breathing it in, grinning at the way Kun’s ears turn pink. “You notice what I eat?”

Kun exhales a sigh of relief and leads them both to the door, holding it open for Ten. “I notice a lot of things about you,” Kun says.

“Like what?”

“Like…” Kun trails off, tapping at his chin with his free hand. They wander past the displays full of chocolate treats in the front and head in the direction of the parlor, and Ten tries not to stop and ogle at all of the golden, opulent decorations. Jewel-toned satin cushions cover armchairs with gilded feet, long mirrors with ornate frames line the walls, and a chandelier hangs above their heads. He could take photos in here for days, just having fun with the lighting and accents and ridiculousness of it.

“Like how sweet you are on Yangyang,” Kun finally says, eyes lighting up at the thought of his son. When he looks at Ten, the smile on his face could blind gods. “You’re always so patient with him, and kind. And you like to spoil him, I think. Same way you are with Mark.”

Ten shoots Kun a look full of joking accusation. “How dare you say I’m sweet on Mark.”

Kun giggles. He actually _giggles_ , and Ten’s heart melts into a pile of mush inside of his chest. “Anyone can see you care about him a lot.”

“Admittedly, I do, but keep that between us. Okay, what else do you notice?”

They’re brought to a table for two in the corner of the parlor when Kun gives the hostess his name, and Ten tries not to get flustered when Kun lets go of their hands in order to pull the chair out for him to sit in. Inside the smaller, cozier room, there’s another miniature chandelier hanging from the ceiling, along with old framed photographs of New York in the 1950s on the walls.

“You dyed your hair,” Kun points out with raised eyebrows.

“Too obvious. Next.”

“And it really suits you,” Kun adds, grinning cheekily and now seated across from him. "I bet you could pull of any color." Ten’s heart lurches inside of him, caught off guard, and Kun continues on, unbothered: “You wear a lot of purple. Favorite color?”

Ten nods, attempting to reign his heart in. “One of them, anyway. What about you?”

“Guess.” The light in Kun’s eyes is playful.

“Blue?” Ten tries, remembering the time Kun had come into the shop with Yangyang in matching blue tees. That had been too adorable.

Kun smiles, nodding. “Yup. Specifically, the colors you’re wearing, and I swear I’m not trying to be cheesy! I love the dark blue--” Kun points to the stripes on Ten’s shirt “--and I love the lighter, aqua blue, too.” He points at his own ear, indicating that he means the blue found in Ten’s earrings today. “You changed them today.”

Ten’s fingers fly up to his right earlobe, and he twists the studs, feeling coy and pleased. “You noticed that, too?”

“I guess they just caught my eye. Yangyang loves your ears, by the way. He’s always saying how he wants to get his ears pierced like yours.”

“Are you gonna let him?”

“Maybe when he’s thirty-five and old enough to make his own, responsible decisions!” Kun laughs. “Actually, maybe we’ll revisit the conversation when he’s a teenager. That feels right, right?”

“Sure,” Ten agrees easily, shrugging. He doesn’t tell him that Tern’s already had Sorn’s ears pierced since she was about a year old, and that he’d gotten his own ears pierced when he was barely bigger than the chickens running around on his grandfather’s farm. “You always ask that, you know?”

“Ask what?”

“If you’re doing it right. About Yangyang.”

Kun looks down at his hands clasped together over the table. He twiddles his thumbs in tiny circles. “It’s just...hard to know if I _am_ doing it right, or if I can be doing it better. I’m a single parent, you know?”

“I know,” Ten says, and Kun looks up at him sharply. “I mean, I don’t _know_. I don’t have any kids, but. I think I kinda. Get that feeling.” Ten chews on his bottom lip as another smile slides across Kun’s face, slowly, wonderfully, warming Ten up from the inside out. Ten’s eyes flick down to Kun’s hands on the table, and he takes the initiative to reach out and fold his fingers over Kun’s clasped ones, wishing he could push love and support and confidence into him through osmosis. “If it’s any consolation, Yangyang is a great kid, and you’re doing well.”

Before Kun can respond, an employee comes over to their table, hovering over them. “Can I get you anything?”

“Oh.” Kun blinks up at her. “Sorry -- we haven’t even looked at the menu.”

“That’s fine, I can come back.”

“Please, thanks.” To Ten, Kun says, “We should probably look at the menu.”

Reluctantly, Ten agrees and withdraws his hand from Kun’s. He picks up the menu in front of him, eyeing the list of chocolate-based items, the options for sandwiches and salads, and the sides. He flips it over and finds a list of iced chocolate drinks covering almost half the page and licks his lips, already imagining the sweet, bitter taste. “D’you have any recommendations?”

“Google tells me the iced chocolate drinks should be good,” Kun says smoothly.

“Thank god, because that’s exactly what I wanted.”

“Maybe we can also get a little cake to split?” Kun suggests, not looking at the menu at all. Ten only realizes when he glances up to find Kun staring at him, expression a little dopey, his smile like the after-image of the sun on the backs of your eyelids. “You can choose.”

“Can I?” He focuses on the menu again, knowing he's blushing from Kun's attention.

“Uh huh.”

“Let’s get the _Moelleux au Chocolat_ ,” Ten says, doing his best to approximate a French accent.

Kun laughs softly. “I believe it’s pronounced _moi-loo oh chocolate_.”

“I seriously doubt that. Are you a French professor?”

“Definitely not.”

“Then let’s just agree to call it _lava cake_.”

Kun nods, pretending to consider it. “I can live with that.”

Ten feels himself relaxing more and more around Kun. Not only is he incredibly sweet (and handsome), but he hasn’t batted an eye at Ten’s playful teasing. He’s even reciprocating! “What are you getting to drink?”

“Thinking the passionfruit smoothie,” Kun says, eyes scanning the menu once more. “I like how tart it is when compared to the bitterness and sweetness of the chocolate, I think it’ll be a nice…” Kun trails off, giving Ten a hesitant grin and the side-eye. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Ten asks innocently. He holds the menu up to cover the bottom half of his face.

“Like...you’re very conflicted right now. Was it something I said?”

Kun actually starts to look more concerned, and Ten drops the menu to flap his hands at him. “No, no! It’s just -- I’m not a fan of fruit, so that’s one thing. But the way you talked about how the flavors will go together…”

“You don’t agree?”

“No, I’m really into it,” Ten blurts. His eyes widen as he realizes what he’s said. His face might as well be on fire right now. His cheeks and ears feel like they’re blazing. He flaps his hands around some more, the long sleeves of his shirt flopping about past his fingers. “Ah, ignore what I said!”

“What? How can I?” Kun’s beaming. He looks like he’s just discovered a pot of gold at the end of a long rainbow. “Was it the flavors themselves or the way I talked about them?”

“Please, I’m so embarrassed,” Ten whines.

“No, please don’t be. It’s so cute,” Kun assures him, reaching across the table to take his hand again -- probably to keep Ten from knocking over their waters with all his nervous flapping. “You’re so cute.”

Ten’s brain just sort of short-circuits right then and there. Smoke fizzles out of his ears. The waitress comes back to take their orders, and Ten manages to stutter through his order of Iced Dark Aztec Chocolate with a shot of espresso, and Kun orders his smoothie and the cake. When the waitress leaves with the menus, Kun puts his other hand on the table, palm facing up, an invitation for Ten to slide his hand across the table to join their fingers. He does.

“Wait…” Kun starts, licking his lips. “Did you say you’re not a fan of fruit?”

.

Thankfully, Kun doesn’t care that Ten wouldn’t eat a banana on its own for a million dollars, so that’s one hurdle passed. He does seem a bit relieved when Ten admits that he’ll eat fruity _things_ , like when they’re in desserts, or ice cream.

“Which is a dessert,” Kun points out.

“Thanks, Einstein,” Ten huffs, cocking his head and blowing his hair back from in front of his eyes. “We get it, you're handsome _and_ smart.”

Kun squeezes his hands when he laughs, and Ten thinks suddenly that maybe he'd try a strawberry again if it meant Kun would laugh and hold his hands like this forever. The thought makes him a little nervous. Here Ten is, imagining their happily ever after just as Taeyong predicted he would that first night after he met Kun and Yangyang at the cafe, getting carried away with himself. It's been years since he's even considered the notion of romance again in his life, and it's been months since he's believed he's deserving of it. He slides his hands back, retreating, and at the same time the waitress comes back with their drinks and the little lava cake for them to share, and Ten can pretend he let go to make room for the treats.

“Do you want to do the honors?” Kun asks, when their order is settled on the table. He gestures to the dark chocolate cake just a bit larger than the size of his palm sitting between them. It has a dusting of powdered sugar on top, the shape of a heart in the center of the cake left untouched with sugar.

“Yes, obviously,” Ten says. He takes up his fork and digs it into the heart of the cake, dragging the piece he's carved out away from the rest of the dessert, and melted chocolate oozes from the center. Ten might be drooling.

“The look in your eyes right now is one of true love.”

“Yeah, sorry, I'm trying to have a nice date with this cake, now. You can go.”

“That's it for me?”

“That's it for you,” Ten says with a sigh, bringing a small piece of the cake up to his mouth. His eyelids flutter and an unfiltered moan escapes his lips the second he tastes the chocolate on his tongue. As expected, it's rich and bitter, perfectly decadent, and not too sweet. “Oh my God, you have to taste this.”

“I'll have to stay a little longer to do that,” Kun says with a smug grin, clearly thinking himself very clever. Ten finds it alarmingly sexy. “Is that okay with you?”

“I guess you can stay.” Ten tries to keep the tone of his voice serious, but he can't quite keep up the charade, and ends up giggling as he prepares another bite of cake on his fork. Feeling brave, he holds it up toward Kun, who leans forward with anticipation. “Open up.” Leaning forward as well with his chin cupped in his palm, he slides the cake into Kun’s waiting mouth,  eagerly awaiting the other’s reaction.

After a moment of showman-like pondering, Kun says, “That is incredible. It’s still so warm and melt-in-your-mouth. I’ve tried to bake this kind of cake at least six times and I can never get it right.”

“You bake?”

“Not as well as I cook,” Kun quips, chest puffing out a little bit. He picks up his own fork and digs into the dessert on his own terms. “But I’m trying to get better. Yangyang really likes sweets, and sometimes I try to involve him when we’re baking. He can help with the simple stuff!”

“That’s _too_ adorable. I bet he’s so cute when he’s got flour all over his cheeks and hair.”

“He is, until he refuses to let me help him wash it off.” They share a laugh over the image of Kun struggling to get his son into the bath and each take another bite of the cake. “So...tell me about you, though. What’s your story?”

“My story?” Ten’s laughter turns sour and nervous. He feels his stomach tighten reflexively.

“Yeah, you said you moved here, right? A couple of years ago?”

“Yeah, I did,” Ten says. He takes in Kun’s rapt attention, his sincere and open gaze, and continues, “Things were complicated back home.”

“Complicated?”

“Yeah,” Ten says in a small voice, hands starting to fidget with the silverware and plates. “It was just...a lot. A lot going on.”

“And the best option for you was to move here,” Kun surmises carefully. There’s nothing judgmental about the tone of his voice; there’s only curiosity.

Ten exhales deeply. “I -- I think so. It’s something I still wonder, but.” He shrugs, making zigzag patterns in the melted chocolate on the plate with the prongs of his fork, the knot compacting like a diamond in his stomach, condensing with old dread and new anxiety. “Sorry, I don’t really like talking about it.”

Kun’s eyes soften in empathy. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“It’s not -- you didn’t push at all! I’m just -- it wasn’t the best time and I’m happy in New York, now, but I still miss my family and friends back home.”

“Tell me about them?” Kun encourages gently, and it’s only now that Ten realizes Kun has taken his hand over the table again, and is brushing the pad of his thumb back and forth over the back of his hand. It’s lovely.

Ten forces the breath out from his lungs, mindfully releasing the tension that had gathered in his core. “My mom and dad travel a lot. I think right now they’re actually in Singapore, or maybe Taiwan? They’re retired, so they pretty much do whatever they want. And my younger sister Tern is still in Bangkok. Tern is a headache but I love her so much. She’s got a kid, our little Princess. Her name’s Sorn, and she’s about two now.”

“So you’re an uncle!”

“Yeah,” Ten says, a weight lifting from his shoulders as he thinks about his favorite people. “What about you? Your family? Do you have any siblings?”

“You’re looking at an only child, here,” Kun admits with a heavy sigh. “I’ve always wondered what it’s like growing up with a brother or sister, though. Sounds like fun.”

“Once when we were kids, after a scary movie marathon, Tern locked me in the bathroom for two hours and made the lights flicker while she screamed like a ghost outside of it. I was terrified out of my mind.”

“I said brother or sister,” Kun says with a look of horror in his eyes, “not a demon.”

“Hm,” Ten hums happily. “I like that you’re already on my side. Anyway, what else can you tell me about your family?”

“My father’s a professor and my mother’s a doctor. My mother took a break for the last few years, though. To help out with Yangyang. I’m so thankful.”

So many questions pop into Ten’s mind at once. Where was Kun’s partner in this story? Why was he alone? Was Yangyang Kun’s? He struggles to wade through the tangle of questions to bring one to the surface, but can't one that feels appropriate. He's saved when Kun chuckles.

“You can ask, Ten,” Kun says.

Ten fumbles with the words. “Was it hard, being alone?” He blinks because he hadn’t expected that question to fall from his lips. From the way Kun looks at him in surprise, Kun hadn’t expected it either.

“Yes, it was,” Kun says slowly. “My late wife -- Yangyang’s mother -- passed in an accident a little over two years ago. Yangyang was only one at the time, and it was so sudden. If my parents hadn’t helped me with him, I don’t know where I’d be right now.”

“I’m so sorry, Kun.”

Kun offers him a tiny smile. “It was hard, but I still have Yangyang.”

“You must miss her…”

“I do, a lot,” Kun admits. “It used to hurt when I missed her, but now when I think of Vivian I just remember all the good times we had.”

“Her name was Vivian?”

Kun sighs wistfully. “Yeah. We’d met in college. Xuxi introduced us, actually.”

“You and Xuxi are really close.”

“I used to be a huge -- what’s the expression? -- stick in the mud. Xuxi...showed me a fuller existence.”

Ten’s eyes widen at that, and he sips noisily at his chocolate drink. “That sounds like a story.”

“Oh, it is.” Kun clears his throat and shifts in his seat, the gleam in his eyes revealing secrets brimming just below the surface. Ten leans forward some more, enchanted by this beautiful man and his surprises. He wants to know more. He wants to know everything. “Let me tell you about a time in our first year in university, the city of Hong Kong at our fingertips.”

They trade stories about college. While Kun was partying it up in Hong Kong with Xuxi and company, Ten was doing much the same in New York City with Taeyong and Sicheng. They discover some remarkable similarities in their college experiences, and some not-so-similar things. Ten breezed through college studying Economics and minoring in Art; Kun, on the other other side of the world, failed his Organic Chemistry and Biology courses before revisiting his dream of becoming a pediatrician and realizing he’d always loved linguistics and poetry more. “My parents were supportive, ultimately,” Kun shares. “Teachers are well-respected where I’m from.”

“And now you’re a professor,” Ten reminds him.

Kun nods, a shy but satisfied smile tucked away on his lips. “And now I’m a professor.”

The plate with the chocolate-y remains of the dessert has long-since been cleared from their table, and when Ten goes to sip at his drink again, he finds it empty. He makes a little noise of sadness, and Kun laughs.

“I’d say we can order something else, but I remember you said you have something in the afternoon, right?”

“Ah!” Ten gasps and bounces up in his seat, jolted back into the present. “I do. What time is it?”

“Nearly four,” Kun says after checking his phone.

Ten pushes out his bottom lip in a pout. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t check the time at all. I should really get going. My thing is at four.”

“Oh? Should I call you a ride? I don’t want you to be late because of me.”

“No, no,” Ten protests, holding up his hands and secretly pleased that Kun would offer such a thing. “It’s nearby. Walkable. Plus, he won’t care too much if I’m a couple minutes late.”

Kun signals for the check from their waitress. “He?”

Ten chews on his bottom lip for letting that slip. Heart thudding in his chest, he explains, “My, uh, therapist.”

He waits with his heart in his throat for Kun to have a reaction. Any kind of reaction. Will he ask Ten what’s wrong with him? Will he ask Ten why he needs a therapist? But Kun just takes the check when the waitress comes over with it and asks, “Can I walk you there?”

Ten swallows to find his voice again as Kun puts down his card. “Wait -- we can split it.”

“I invited you. It’s my treat this time.” Kun grins at him and holds the check and his card up for the waitress to take.

“This time? Isn't that a bit presumptuous?” 

“I mean, I’m hoping this won’t be the only time we can see each other like this, Ten. What about you?”

“I’d -- I’d really like to see you again, too,” Ten says, warm in his seat and in his skin. “I mean, outside of just at the cafe. I mean like this. On a date.”

“Ten, are you asking me out on a date?”

“We’re _on_ a date. Right now.” If Ten’s ears were any redder they’d probably explode.

“I asked to take you out for coffee,” Kun reminds him, amusement playing across his lips. Suddenly, Ten finds himself wanting to kiss the smirk right off his face.

“And you took me out for chocolate instead,” Ten points out. “On a date.”

“I did,” Kun replies smoothly. “I wanted to impress you.”

“You did?”

“Did it work?” Kun asks. A hint of nervousness creeps into his voice, and Ten melts just a little bit more.

“Yeah, it did. I think I’ll even let you walk me to my appointment.”

Kun smiles, and Ten mirrors him. He feels so giddy he nearly skips the whole way to Taeil's, so light he could float, Kun's hand the only thing keeping him on the ground.

.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the rating has been changed to teen and up! please note ten has a nightmare in this chapter that could be disturbing

Ten’s determined for it to remain a good day after he gets back from Taeil’s. He  _ does not _ space out in front of the television on the couch like a zombie for hours until Taeyong gets home (which, since the restaurant opening is tomorrow, might actually be never); instead, he tidies up his room and the living room, washes all the dishes in the sink, and goes to the fridge to pick out something he can make for dinner before remembering that their refrigerator is basically empty save for one expired egg in a cardboard carton for a dozen, some wilted green onions, and a couple of bottles of various sauces and seasonings. 

But it’s a Good Day! Ten lets himself grin, thinking back on Kun’s comment about how he’s a better chef than baker. He wonders if Kun has a specialty dish he likes to cook to impress his dates. He wonders if  _ he  _ has a specialty dish he should be practicing tonight to impress Kun. Whenever Kun is ready to be impressed. 

It’s been a while since he’s made the green curry from his mother’s recipe -- the fresh ingredients are a little hard to come by and Ten’s knife skills aren’t so great that mincing mounds of basil and vegetables doesn’t take him about an hour each time. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to stock up on some ingredients and groceries tonight and try his luck at it. See if he can remember the recipe at all.

His search for ingredients takes him down to Chinatown. It’s still early in the evening when he emerges from the humid, stuffy underground of the subways and back onto the streets, which honestly aren’t much cooler or less crowded. He has to push his way through throngs of people -- locals and tourists alike -- to get to the supermarket he prefers, and then, after meandering the aisles and filling his basket with the items he came for and some items he did not (chocolate will somehow always make it into his basket; it's like a rule), he has to wait in line for truly an unreasonable amount of time before he finally gets to the register.

The experience drains him. On the train back up to Washington Square Park, he wonders why he didn’t just order some take-out. That would have been much easier.

Still, though, now that he has the ingredients, he might as well cook with them. 

Taeyong hasn’t yet returned when Ten gets back to the apartment, but Ten expected as much. With the kitchen clear, he’s able to spread out all his goods across the counter, making sure he hasn’t missed anything.

While mincing the ginger, he remembers why he used to like cooking so much. Chopping is a repetitive, almost mindless motion, almost meditative, and the fragrant spices and aromas remind him of home, playing with Tern and their pets in the living room as his parents cooked and danced in the kitchen, preparing dinner. He moves on to the green onions, and then to the basil.

Taeil had asked Ten about the date. Asked him how it went, how it felt, and then no more. Taeil’s like that, usually letting Ten guide the session, asking questions here and there, only offering structure and interventions when really needed. Ten’s grateful for his style -- it’s never felt like Taeil’s been trying to push recovery onto him, but rather that he’s there to shepherd Ten along the way. Healing doesn't happen in one direction, Taeil always reminds him. You go forwards and backwards and sideways and sometimes you feel like you're just spinning in circles, and it's Taeil's job to help you get unstuck. To navigate. To grow. 

They didn’t talk about Kun for too long. There were other things lurking just under the surface of Ten’s conscious thoughts that his time with Kun brought to light. Like the feeling of a first date, the excitement and nervousness and skittering hope when the connection is good. Or seemingly good. Putting your trust into someone else’s hands and thinking, believing, _  he will never, ever hurt me _ .

The knife thunks into the board. There’s no more basil to chop. Ten refocuses, the tips of his fingers green from handling the pulp of the herbs he’s been pulverizing. With slightly shaking hands, he takes out his phone and FaceTimes his mom.

She answers after a couple of rings, her face thrown into shadow as she squints into the camera. The sun shines down on the terrace where she's sitting at a small white table, and the huge and open sky paint a strikingly blue backdrop. In the distance, Ten can make out the ocean, the sand on the beach. She’s drinking something out of a mug, her black hair thrown up into a bun. “My son,” she greets Ten in Thai. 

He slips back into the language easily. “Mama, you’re still in Singapore?”

She shakes her head. The breeze coming off the ocean makes the hair falling from her bun whip around her face. “Taiwan today! Fulong. We got in last night.”

Ten arranges the phone on the counter, propped against the dish rack so that he can still see the video and his mother can still see him. “You’re up early, then.”

“And you’re cooking!” she exclaims excitedly.

“Trying to.”

“What do you mean ‘trying’? Cooking is cooking. You either make the food or you don’t. Is that green onion? Oi, why’d you chop it so fine!”

“I’m trying to make your green curry.”

“No one can make my green curry,” his mother states. “Only I can make my green curry. Hm, but you’re pretty good at imitating it. What’s wrong, then?”

“I forgot...some steps,” Ten admits, leaning onto the counter.

“How! You’ve made it so many times!”

“Mom…” Ten draws out the word, starting to regret making the call at this time. He loves his mom, he really does, but sometimes when what he wants is gentleness and support, what he gets is in-your-face doubt and questioning instead. He knows she’s capable of both. He sends her a watery look, hoping she’ll get the message and go easy on him today.

“Okay, okay,” she says, waving her hand at him. “You tell me what you did already. We’ll go from there.”

Ten sighs in relief. “Thank you.”

Ten shares what he’s done so far with his mom. She listens attentively, nodding and humming every so often, and then she instructs him on what to do next. She inspects each ingredient as he prepares it, and has him describe the aromas and scents filling up the kitchen as he fries the spices, and then as the curry bubbles over the stove. When she deems the curry is ready, she asks him if he’s already prepared the rice for it, and Ten wants to smack himself in the face with his wooden spoon.

“I knew I forgot something!”

She sucks in an exaggerated breath, affronted. “How can you eat this without rice? You can be so forgetful, Ten. Have you lost weight recently? Your face looks skinnier. What are you doing a diet for?”

“I’m not dieting--”

“I know I keep saying this, but you should really find yourself a partner, son. It's been two years already, and you haven't been back to visit."

"Mom--"

"Stop dieting. Find someone who will take care of you. Aren’t you lonely? Isn’t it about time for that?”

“Mama,” Ten says a little more loudly and forcefully in order to break through her stream-of-consciousness needling, and she snaps to attention, going quiet. “I do not  _ need  _ someone to take care of me. I  _ need  _ to -- to figure it out in my own way. When I’m ready to share that with you and Dad, I will.”

She looks at him like a goldfish inside a bowl, mouth slightly agape, eyes wide and unblinking. Ten turns off the stove with a snap, frustrated with his outburst but also kind of proud of himself for having it in such a controlled way and being able to communicate clearly. He turns away from the phone, collecting himself before looking back into the camera. He gasps when he finds his mother with her face in her hands.

All the fight leaves him in an instant. “Oh, Mama…”

“No, you’re right,” his mom sniffs. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m trying not to be so -- so pushy. I know it makes me sound like, like I’m not proud of you or how far you’ve come. It’s just a habit. It’s hard to break. But I’m trying, Ten.”

“I know you are…”

“I  _ am  _ proud of you,” she continues. “So proud. You look so much happier and healthier now than before. I still think about -- I wish we’d done something sooner. Tern sends us pictures sometimes from your -- your Instagram account. That’s all I really want for you, to be happy and healthy, after everything. I just. I worry about you, all alone in New York City. After what happened...”

“I’m not alone,” Ten says quietly, his voice thick with emotion at watching his mother break down. It’s in these moments he wishes he could travel across space and time in the blink of an eye just to give his mother a hug, to feel her comfort. “I’ve got so many friends here, now. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m just a phone call away, anyway.”

“We’ll visit New York soon,” his mom promises him. “After Europe. We’ll come see you.”

“Just don’t come in the winter,” Ten teases. “You’d hate it.”

She laughs, delicately wiping at the remaining stray tears under her eyes. “Okay, we will skip the winter.”

“Mama,” Ten says. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, son.”

“Thanks for re-teaching me how to make your famous green curry.”

She laughs again, the sound sweet. “You have to prepare the rice for it now! Share it with your friends, okay? So they can taste your home.”

“I will.”

She breathes in deep. Behind her, the ocean waves crash and churn. She says, “I’ll go before your dad wakes up. He has no idea how to make the coffee and will need help. Useless old man.”

.

They are on the beach, the setting familiar. His family used to frequent this place the summers, and Ten turns his face upwards towards the sun, lets his skin soak up the unrelenting rays. The sand is hot and close to burning under his bare feet. They're helping Yangyang make a sandcastle.  _ More towers! _ the boy demands.  _ More moats! _

Instead of a prince or princess in one of the towers, Yangyang has placed his favorite red toy car. Ten isn't sure how he knows it's Yangyang's favorite, only that he is certain of it. Kun dutifully pats the sand down around the castle walls, fortifying the structure. They've been at it for at least an hour, judging from the size of the castle -- three storeys now -- with a sad little maze beside the shallow moat. Kun says,  _ more water! _ And Yangyang shrills,  _ more water! _ And Kun hands Ten the little red pail, the same color as Yangyang's car. 

Ten takes the pail, says,  _ A kiss first _ , and leans into Kun's space with his lips puckered and ready. Kun laughs. In his dream, it sounds like bells. They kiss. Yangyang demands the same, and Ten kisses him, too. Then he goes to face the water.

Ten steps forward to the shoreline, the sun beating down onto his back. Behind him, he hears families laughing, children shrieking in joy. The sand is wet between his toes, turned gritty and cold. The temperature of the ocean is at odds with the searing heat on the beach. He bends down with the pail in hand to scoop up the frothy water, but his pail comes up empty, and he looks at his feet in confusion.

The shoreline has moved. Ten steps forward again to reach it. He bends down with the pail in hand and again the pail comes up empty. 

The shoreline has moved. He bends down again. Empty. 

He chases the shoreline for what feels like hours, never quite reaching it. When he feels goose-flesh rising on his skin in the chill left behind by the sinking of the sun, he realizes he has lost the sounds of the laughing children and families. He is alone, and wet sand stretches for miles around him in all directions.

_ Kun! _ he cries out, and his shout is swallowed up by the dead, still air.  _ Kun! Yangyang? _

He is alone, and the sand is as gray as sheet metal and just as cold. Shells prick at his feet. He picks a direction and starts to run, hoping to come across a sign of life.  _ Kun! Yangyang? _

Minutes or hours later, he falls to his knees, exhausted. He’s left a trail of bloodied footprints behind him, stretching out to the horizon.  _ Kun! Yangyang!  _ he screams, throat raw. 

There’s no one. He’s alone.

Until he isn’t. A pair of arms encircle his shoulders, familiar and strong and warm. They draw him close to a body, a sturdy chest, a strong, beating heart. 

_ Kun, _ Ten sighs in relief, reaching up to hold onto him.

It’s not Kun who responds.

_ Baby, _ the man says, in a voice that makes all of Ten’s blood turn to ice in his veins. _ Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you. _

He is holding Ten around his waist. He is squeezing his hands around Ten’s neck. He is plucking the glass shards embedded in Ten’s feet and pushing them into Ten’s mouth. 

.

Ten wakes up on the floor of his bedroom, his covers in a tangle around his body, his jaw tight and clenched and his head throbbing. For an instant, he thinks he’s still trapped in the endless desert of sheet metal sand, and terror makes his heart jump up into his throat, choking him. He struggles with the covers, kicking them off his legs, and manages to clamber up onto his knees and slap his hand up against his nightstand, searching for his phone and the switch at the base of his small bedside lamp. 

The light flicks on, emitting a warm golden glow that makes Ten’s eyes burn like he’s staring directly into fire. He blinks to adjust to the brightness, counts quietly aloud to slow his breathing as he props himself against his bed frame and reminds himself of a few necessary things: He’s in New York. He lives with Taeyong. It’s been over two years and no one from that part of his life is coming to look for him.

He hates this particular kind of nightmare. These are worse than the nightmares that drop him straight into some hellish scene his subconscious cooks up for him, pieced together with bits of memories. Rather than that, the slow, innocuous start always leaves him unprepared for the turn, unprepared for the flare of panic and pain that, no matter how many times he’s experienced it, always feels horribly fresh.

He looks at his phone in his hands, noting that it’s just past two in the morning. With a groan, Ten shuts his eyes against the light, hearing his heart still beating rapidly in his ears, hearing the ocean roaring in them. He tries to picture Kun, their sandcastle, Yangyang, the toy car. Footprints in the sand. His mother reading on the beach. Tern putting her head under the surface of the water for the first time and coming up coughing and laughing. The images slip past him like wind through his hair.

“No,” Ten says to the empty room, refusing to be pulled under. He gets up on slightly wobbly legs, throws his covers back onto his bed, and stalks over to his closet. There, in the corner of that tiny space, is his rolled up yoga mat. He drags it out into the living room and unfurls it in front of the coffee table. Sprawls out flat on his back on top the mat and flips through apps on his phone until he finds a short and gentle yoga practice video he knows he likes, and puts it on.

.

Ten’s in downward-facing dog when the front door opens and Taeyong, still wearing a black apron, walks through it, his pink hair wild and disheveled.

“Interesting time for yoga practice,” Taeyong comments after slipping off his shoes and putting them neatly in the shoe rack by the door. 

“It’s not the worst thing you’ve caught me doing at half past two in the morning,” Ten retorts as he transitions into a warrior’s lunge pose, one arm stretched out in front of him and the other behind. He catches Taeyong furrowing his brows at him and exhales, settling into his pose. 

Taeyong stares at him for a moment longer before shrugging and turning away, heading back into the kitchen. “I’m beat,” he says. “Gonna make calming tea. Want?”

“Please,” Ten says, grateful. 

By the time the tea is ready, the yoga practice is over, and Ten is rosy-cheeked as he rolls up his mat. He goes to put the mat back into his closet before returning to join Taeyong in the kitchen, where twin steaming mugs of chamomile tea sit on the counter.

“Thanks,” Ten says quietly. He takes one the mugs, and Taeyong takes the other.

“No problem.” 

They sip in companionable silence for a little while, and again Ten can’t help but feel so, incredibly grateful for Taeyong. For his tea, for his quiet support, for the space he gives him when he needs it. “Yongie?” Ten starts, when he’s had enough of the quiet. His friend grunts in response, eyes half-closed. “You don’t have to stay up with me, you know.”

“Wanna finish my tea,” Taeyong insists, his words slurred, almost drunken. “And shower.”

“Do that, then. And go to sleep. I’ll be fine. You need to rest. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

“Opening weekend,” Taeyong says automatically, and Ten isn’t sure if he’s even truly awake anymore at this point. Taeyong seems to be listing slightly to the side as he sips his tea, righting himself when his own weight is just about to tip his body over. 

Ten sets his mug down on the counter and gently takes Taeyong’s mug from his hands as well. “Go shower, Yongie. You’re dead on your feet.”

“Tomorrow morning--”

“You can’t come with me to the cafe. I know. We talked about it. I can bake, too. Picked a few things up from you.”

“Hmph,” is all Taeyong says to that. He pushes his bottom lip out into a cute pout, and Ten points his finger in the direction of the bathroom. Begrudgingly, Taeyong goes in the direction that Ten’s pointing, and Ten rinses out their mugs in the sink. A minute later, after he hears the shower start to run, he settles down onto the couch in the living room with a book about decluttering and de-stressing, thinking that if reading doesn’t put him to sleep, at least he’ll pick up some tips on how to better organize his closet.

.

His phone buzzing on his chest is what wakes him. Somehow, the book has ended up under his cheek and there's a blanket haphazardly thrown over his legs. The crick in his neck means Ten's going to have a very hard time today looking in any direction that isn't left. Wiping the drool at the corner of his lips, Ten checks his phone with narrowed eyes.

Despite it being just past five in the morning, he grins at the message. It's Kun. Or rather, it's a picture that Kun has sent him of a kid's drawing of a purple car driving on a rainbow, three faces in the windows and one figure flying above the car.

_ Thought I'd share this with you. Yangyang's an artist! (We're in the front seat) _

He and Kun wear matching, wide smiles in the crude drawing. _ Who's wearing the cape and flying? _

_ Oh that's Mark,  _ Kun sends.

Ten snorts to himself, the dream that plagued him just hours ago now far from his mind.  _ Where are we going? _

_ Space, apparently! Anyway, good morning _

_ Good morning 😊 thanks for sharing that I really needed it _

_ Needed it? Hold on... _

Ten frowns at the strange message, confused by what Kun means. What’s he meant to be holding onto? It’s too early for puzzles, Ten thinks. He barely slept at all and he still hasn’t had his first cup of coffee. He’s just about to respond when a barrage of images fills his screen, one after another.  The first is of a puppy chewing on a chew-toy. The second is of a kitten yawning. 

The theme continues, Kun sending over photos of cute animals and babies doing cute things, and after about a dozen photos, Kun sends:  _ Better? _

Ten chuckles, slowly kicking the blanket off his legs into a crumpled pile at one end of the couch.  _ 99 times better...it would have been 100 but one picture was missing _

_ Oh? _

_ Yours!  _

_ Smooth,  _ Kun sends.  _ Okay, wait. _

Ten chews on his bottom lip in anticipation. He doesn't have to wait long. The photo Kun sends of himself is definitely from another time. For one thing, his hair is blond. For another thing, he’s wearing a leather jacket. It looks like the photo was taken outside of a bar. The sign above the establishment glows red, the large Chinese characters casting light and forming sharp shadows across Kun’s face. Ten’s throat goes dry and parched, examining the photo more closely. Kun looks amazing.

_ This is not a cute picture, Kun, _ Ten informs him.

_ You didn’t specify ;) Send me one too! _

_ Hm, no thanks _

_ Not fair! _

_ Are you stopping by the cafe today? _

_ Do you want me to? _

The phone suddenly slips from Ten’s hands and smacks into his face, making him yip in surprise. When he looks at the messages again, he’s sent:  _ ahdjkf  _

Ten curses, feeling like a fool.  _ Sorry, dropped phone. I meant to send...yes _

Kun responds immediately, and surely there must be something wrong with Ten’s heart for it to soar the way it does at such a simple promise. 

_Then I’ll be there._

.


	10. Chapter 10

True to his word, Kun shows up at the cafe around noon with Yangyang in his arms and a bouquet of flowers in Yangyang's arms.

"For Gege!" Yangyang announces cheerfully, thrusting the bouquet of slightly crushed flowers at Ten when they reach the counter. Most of the blooms are varying shades of purple and blue, some as deep as indigo, and Ten beams at him while taking the flowers graciously, going red when Kun smiles at him.

“He got a little rough with them,” Kun says apologetically, as Yangyang protests with his arms now locked around his father's neck.

“No! Yangyang didn't!”

“They're perfect,” Ten interjects before Yangyang can start screaming and the pleasantly curious looks his customers are giving them can morph into annoyance. “Yangyang did a great job bringing them for me. Did you pick these out yourself?”

Yangyang's chest puffs out as he beams, his cute little cheeks glowing. “Yes!”

Kun shakes his head and mouths,  _ no _ , his smile glittering in his eyes.

“I love them,” Ten says to Kun. He brings the bouquet to his face, inhaling its sweet scent. “I don't have a vase, though,” Ten realizes sadly. The flowers rustle in his arms.

"They'll keep for a couple of hours. I asked the florist." Kun puts Yangyang down and the kid immediately tiptoes up to the counter, grubby hands reaching for the pile of stickers by the register. He takes another rainbow heart and holds it up to his dad to peel. Kun does so, handing the sticker back to him as he says with an air of nonchalance, "I had a lot of fun yesterday."

"I had a lot of fun, too," Ten says softly, putting the flowers to the side for now on the counter. He'll figure out what to do with them later. Maybe he'll put a bloom or two out at each of the tables in a little mug. That could be cute.

"Uncle Xuxi said Baba went on a date," Yangyang chimes in, looking between the two of them with the heart sticker stuck to his cheek.

Ten reaches over to ruffle the kid's hair, and Yangyang laughs, leaning his head into the touch like a puppy. "Sure did."

"I wanna go on a date, too," Yangyang announces. "With Ten Gege! Or Mark!"

As though beckoned by his name, Mark emerges from the back of the cafe from his break, patting his hands down his apron and grinning when he sees Yangyang bouncing up onto his toes trying to peer over the counter. "Kiddo! Long time no see!"

"Long time!" Yangyang tries to repeat. "No...Mark!"

Mark barks a laugh and comes around the counter, stooping down low to give Yangyang a trick high-five. Yangyang shrieks in glee when Mark pulls his hand away before Yangyang can smack it, and this prompts a couple of rounds of Yangyang trying to catch Mark's hands.

With the kids distracted, Ten turns back to Kun and clears his throat. "Speaking of dates," he starts nervously, hiding the way his feet are tapping behind the counter.

"Yes?" Kun quirks an eyebrow at him, amused, and Ten loses his train of thought, though he climbs back on board quickly.

"Speaking of dates," Ten tries again, pulling his sleeves down over his knuckles and folding his arms across his chest. "Taeyong's restaurant opening is this weekend." He exhales slowly to release the nervous tension trapped high up in his chest. "Do you want to, like, come with me?"

"Already?" Kun asks, and Ten's heart tumbles to his feet, crushed. It's too soon. Kun doesn't like him the way Ten likes Kun. Ten should have waited another day or two before asking. He's been out of the dating game for too long, and he's forgotten about the strange cat-and-mouse dynamic that's expected of new relationships. Show too much interest, and you'll scare the other off. Ten holds himself a little tighter, ready to try to withdraw his question, when Kun adds hastily, "I meant I thought the opening was next weekend! I'd love to go with you. What day were you thinking?"

Ten stares, and his mouth moves of its own accord. "Sunday?"

"Sunday, hm." Kun taps his finger against his chin in thought. "I'll have to get a sitter."

"Me!" Mark jumps up with Yangyang hanging off his arm. "I volunteer."

Kun smirks. "Volunteer?"

"I mean, I'll do it. For fair wages and compensation."

"You sure?"

"Yes, totally." Mark nods to emphasize his point, shaking his arm as Yangyang laughs and lets go, plopping to the ground and choosing instead to dart around his legs now.

Kun faces Ten with a light smile on his face. "Guess that's settled, then."

"Guess so," Ten says, smiling so hard he feels like his face could split.

He spends the rest of the day light on his feet, dancing to the song in his head, calling out orders to the tune of the melody. He plucks one of the flower stems from the bouquet and nips it shorter, tucking the bloom behind his ear, and wears it like that all the way home.

.

There's no Taeyong to help him get ready for his date this time. With the restaurant opening this weekend, Taeyong's new home is the tiny office beside the restaurant kitchens, just steps away from the stoves where he's been putting out fires -- both figurative and literal -- to ensure a smooth operation in the front of the house. He's been catching a few hours of sleep at Doyoung's when he can since Doyoung's apartment is closer, and his dedication has translated into positive results. Glowing and celebratory reviews for the new restaurant have already been published in a couple of the more popular NYC-based food blogs, touting Taeyong as an ingenious (and handsome!) new chef on the block who's putting an imaginative and fun twist to traditional Korean comfort foods. 

Ten's proud of him, and so, so happy for Taeyong. He really is. But now he's standing in front of his closet and it's an hour before he's meant to be at their reservation and he still doesn't know what top to wear. Taeyong's restaurant isn't too upscale, but it's not a dive either, and it's in a trendy part of the city where the people are always well-dressed and well-groomed and shiny as chrome. 

Ten's hand trails to a silver silk shirt tucked into one corner of his closet, and his fingers brush over the smooth material. Too bright for dinner, he thinks. He wants Kun to think he's cute and maybe a little sexy, not a mirror. Black skinny jeans with rips at the knees hug at his thighs, and gunmetal earrings dangle from his earlobes. He flicks through a couple of other shirts -- a deep burgundy one, white, black, grey, navy. None of them feel right, the solid colors too heavy for the summer. 

Finally, he remembers he has a light grey button up patterned over with artful, cloud-like splotches of white, and digs into his closet for it. He emerges victorious with the shirt and puts it on, leaving two of the top buttons unbuttoned and tucking the front of the shirt into his jeans. He swims a little bit in this top, the sleeves just a bit too long, the fit over-sized, but that's how Ten likes it. Rolling his shoulders a bit to relax as he examines himself in the mirror hanging over his closet door, Ten checks his makeup and his earrings again and fiddles with the rings on his fingers.

"You can do this," he tells his reflection. "You look really cute," he tries, but he's not really sure, so he texts Sicheng and sends him a photo of his outfit, asking him if he thinks he looks cute because he knows Sicheng would never lie to him. Sicheng responds with a whole row of enthusiastic thumbs up.

.

Kun shows up in a black silk shirt, black skinny jeans, his hair pushed up and out of his face. He's wearing jewelry, Ten realizes quickly, which he's never seen before on Kun. Just a silver necklace and little silver hoops in his ears, but the accessories change his look drastically. Or maybe it's the slightly smokey, lined eyes? Whatever it is, the whole thing works.

"You look like a vampire," Ten says, when Kun holds his arms out slightly as Ten nears. Kun grins, his teeth glinting in the light, and Ten points at his incisors in accusation. "There! You  _ are  _ one."

"I'll take it as a compliment." Kun laughs breathily, right against Ten's ear, as he slowly loops his arms around Ten's waist.

"Oh," Ten gasps, his own arms stuck out to his sides. He's forgotten what to do with them. Luckily, Kun doesn't seem to notice or take offense, and takes a step back after a moment, leaving one arm still curled behind Ten's waist.

"You look amazing," Kun says. His hand feels broad pressed against the small of Ten's back, and when he pushes their bodies closer together Ten's heart does a huge swoop in his chest, like a falcon diving for prey, that leaves him a lightheaded. "But you always do."

"I won't be wooed by you," Ten mumbles.

"Should I not bring you flowers anymore, then?"

"No, bring them," Ten says. "They're nice for the cafe."

Kun laughs then, soft and bright, his face so close Ten could just push himself up onto his toes and press his lips against Kun's jaw, his cheek, his lips. But he doesn't. Not yet.

.

Dinner passes by much too quickly. Their waiter ends up being Donghyuck, the subject of many of Taeyong's horror stories, but Ten thinks the kid is kind of sweet, if not just a little bit unfocused at times. He also looks familiar, and when he mentions this to the kid, Donghyuck quickly realizes that Ten is the owner of the coffee shop his friend Dejun frequents, and that he's gone a couple of times.

"Small world," Ten says, when they make the connection.

"Do I get a free coffee the next time I come?" Donghyuck asks eagerly after bringing them their appetizers.

"Absolutely not," Ten says, and when Donghyuck leaves with a pout, Kun turns to Ten with alarm in his eyes.

"He'll spit in our food, now!"

"He won't," Ten says with a chuckle. He reaches out to take Kun's hand across the table. "People don't actually do that."

"I think, sweetheart, you might have too high a view on humanity as a whole."

Ten hides a grimace at that, shakes his head, and squeezes Kun's hand. "It's 'sweetheart' now, is it?" 

"It is." The blush on Kun's cheeks is so subtle Ten almost misses it. "Is that okay?"

"Only if I can call you cupcake."

"Really? Cupcake?"

Ten grins, tongue behind his teeth. "Those are my terms."

Kun's foot taps against his under the table, and Ten doesn't pull away. A moment later, he feels the press of Kun's calf along his own. Kun grins also, cheeky and sweet. "Fine, then. You've got yourself a deal."

.

By the time Donghyuck asks them what they want for dessert (“Surprise us!” Kun orders, joyful and a little tipsy), Ten can’t believe they haven’t run out of things to talk about once. To his utter delight, he discovers Kun knows a thing or two about music, has even composed a bit in his spare time, and Ten shares how much he loved dancing growing up, though it’s been a while since he’s taken a class.

“We can take one together,” Kun suggests, lips stained red from the wine and cheeks rosy. He lifts the glass in Ten’s direction and laughs. “You can see my skills. Or lack thereof.”

“Why does it sound like you’re trying to be self-deprecating but you’re actually going to end up being quite good at it?”

Kun winks. “Guess we’ll have to take a class together for you to find out.”

“I swear to god, if you wink at me one more time…”

“What?” Kun asks with a simpering smile, now winking purposefully and alternating eyes. “You don’t like it?”

“Now you’re just showing off,” Ten says. 

Perhaps the wine has gone to his head a little bit also, but he feels incredible, as though the weight and baggage caked onto him like dried mud from his years post-college back in Thailand have sloughed from his shoulders. He can’t seem to stop smiling, flirting, laughing. And then Taeyong appears at his side with a fat slice of chocolate cake on a plate with a scoop of vanilla ice cream melting over the three layers of sponge.

“Yongie!” Ten looks up, beaming.

“Tennie!” Taeyong mimics back, sliding the piece of cake onto the table in the center. He’s wearing a sleek black chef’s jacket and matching pants, and Ten is immediately impressed by the lack of any visible stains. “Hyuck told me you’d made it. Why didn’t you come back to say hi?”

“Didn’t want to bother you,” Ten says. “You’re busy!”

“Not too busy to say hi to you. I’m so glad you were able to make it.” The light behind Taeyong’s eyes highlights his excitement and enthusiasm for the opening, while his professionalism keeps him from flailing and shouting. It’s been  _ years  _ in the making, though, so Ten knows Taeyong must be trembling in his shoes.

“Everything’s been amazing, Yongie,” Ten tells him sincerely. “Like, so incredible. It’s so great.”

Taeyong flushes, his smile fighting against his lips. He clears his throat and steps to the side slightly, turning to Kun. “And who’s this?”

“Oh! This is Kun.” Ten scrambles to his feet, awkward with introductions, but Kun smoothly stands and reaches out his hand to shake Taeyong’s in a firm, clean grip.

“You must be Taeyong,” Kun says. “The chef, right? The food’s delicious.”

“Sit, sit.” Taeyong gestures for them both to return to their seats, and they both do so slowly. “And yes, that’s me.” He stands a little straighter at that as Ten looks on fondly. “I just wanted to come out to say hello, and thank you for coming. And to make sure you were enjoying yourselves.” At the last sentence, he looks at Ten pointedly, then at Ten and Kun’s hands joined together over the table.

“Everything’s good,” Ten says. “I mean it.”

Taeyong grins then, and with a final nod, says, “I have to get back to the kitchen, but it was nice to meet you finally, Kun, and I hope you don’t take this the wrong way when I say that if you hurt so much as a hair on Ten’s head, I will cook you into stew.”

“Yongie!” Ten hisses.

“What?” Taeyong asks, cocking his head to the side in a display of innocence. “I’ll be going now.”

Ten watches Taeyong as he retreats back into the kitchen, and when he disappears behind the swinging doors, he shakes his fist in his direction. “Don’t listen to him, Kun,” he says, swiveling back in his chair to face his date.

“Why not? He means well. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of hurting you, ever, so I think I’ll be safe.” When he grins it makes Ten feel like he’s riding on the back of a motorcycle clinging onto the person in front of him, wind rushing past his ears, body flying. He can see the black asphalt stretching out in front of them for miles. “Now, c’mon. Let’s eat this cake.”

.

They walk almost fifteen blocks downtown after dinner, weaving slightly, hands in each other’s pockets, before they decide that taking the train is probably a better idea. Then Ten almost falls asleep against Kun’s shoulder because of the rocking motion of the N, and Kun has to gently nudge him back to consciousness when they reach their stop.

Without voicing the decision aloud, they gravitate toward Ten’s apartment, chatting quietly about nothing of significance -- upcoming movies they want to watch, shows they need to catch up on, how sometimes getting to Brooklyn feels like traveling to a whole different state.

“We’ve got some people we know in Brooklyn,” Ten says as they round the corner onto his block. “But I don’t know, it would be hard for me to move there, with the cafe and all.”

“Well, I get subsidized housing as a professor right around the Square,” Kun quips, “So I don’t think I’ll be moving anytime soon.”

“Jerk.” Ten bumps his hip against Kun’s, and Kun bumps back. Then they’re in front of Ten and Taeyong’s building. The night is inky black above them, the stars barely visible. Across the street, a small group of friends are lighting up and playing music on a stoop. The bar at the corner of Ten’s block is packed and busy, full of people who don’t want Sunday to end, the noise and laughter from inside spilling out onto the sidewalk. Kun’s lips are still red, look just-bitten, and his eyes are only on Ten. 

“Do you wanna come up for a drink?” Ten asks.

“Yeah,” Kun sighs. “I’d love that.”

.

Ten pours two glasses of red wine and brings them over to the couch in the living room, where Kun is already seated, flipping through the book Ten left on the coffee table last night. He’d thought it might feel strange for Kun to be here, in his space, but it doesn’t feel strange at all. He hands Kun a glass, taking a seat next to him on the couch and tucking his feet underneath himself. “Cheers,” he says, his voice loud in the quiet apartment.

“Cheers,” Kun responds. 

Their glasses clink. He watches the way Kun’s throat works as he takes a small sip of wine.

Kun puts his drink down and picks up the book again. “De-cluttering, huh?”

“It’s supposed to clear the mind, and the heart,” Ten explains. “I haven’t gotten around to it yet, though. My closet’s a mess.”

“Yeah?” Kun shifts his body to face Ten. He reaches out to put a hand on Ten’s knee. Ten’s breath catches. Kun takes Ten’s glass from his hand and puts it down onto the coffee table for him. “I bet it’s not a mess at all.”

Ten trails his hand up Kun’s chest, feeling how it rises and falls with each breath under his palm. His skin is so warm under his shirt, and Ten licks his lips, watching Kun's pulse flickering at his throat. He sees how Kun's eyes flicker to his lips, to the motion of his tongue darting out to wet them. A lovely, deep heat starts to pool in his belly.

“Would it be okay if I kissed you?” he asks. When Kun nods, he grasps a fistful of shirt in between his fingers, and leans in slowly, taking his time and savoring the way Kun's breaths fall against his skin. He catches Kun’s lips in a chaste, sweet kiss. Pulling back, he watches the other’s face carefully, noting the way Kun’s eyelashes flutter, the color in his cheeks, the way his eyes darken with desire. 

They crash into each other, kissing again, harder and fuller, Kun’s hands cupped around Ten’s face and holding him still as they push against each other, breathing in each other’s exhalations. 

“Ten,” Kun murmurs like a prayer, each word punctuated by another soft kiss, “Ten, Ten, Ten.”

It’s been so long since Ten’s been held like this, kissed like this, touched like this. He closes his eyes and lets himself get lost in the feeling of being cherished. Kun holds him like he’s as delicate as crystal, yet kisses him like he wants to bury himself inside of him. The stark contrast makes Ten’s head swim. He kisses back as best he can, licking into Kun’s mouth and gasping Kun’s name. 

He feels his back hit the armrest and whines against Kun’s cheek. Kun’s hand travels from gently cupping the nape of his neck to brushing over his shoulders, then it trails down his side to rest against Ten’s hip. Ten jolts against the feeling. His shirt has come untucked. Kun’s hand travels lower, then under his shirt, then his thumb is brushing over the crest of Ten’s hipbone, over his bare, naked skin, over his scar, and Ten’s body panics, reacts by shoving Kun away from him as quickly as possible.

Kun stumbles back, his eyes wide. 

They are frozen.

Guilt and shame and regret curdle in Ten’s gut as his mind catches up with what his body has done, as his heart hammers inside of his chest, his breath coming in fast.

“Woah,” Kun whispers, keeping his distance. “Are you okay?”

“I,” Ten chokes out, drawing his knees up to his chest and tightening his fist over his heart. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? Don’t be sorry -- I’m the one who should apologize. Obviously I did something that made you uncomfortable…”

Ten shakes his head, trying to remember to exhale. “No, no, you didn’t.”

“Ten,” he says, and is that disappointment Ten hears in Kun’s voice? “I’m going to get us some waters, okay?”

Ten doesn’t respond. How can he? His traitorous body is in fight-or-flight mode, and seemingly confused about which option to take. He counts to ten slowly, trying to regain control. When Kun comes back with the water, his heart rate has slowed a bit but not enough to be comfortable, and his chest still feels tight with disgust and anxiety. What did he think he was doing? Did he think he was good enough for Kun? What would Kun want with someone who can’t even stomach a bit of heavy petting while kissing?

“Ten,” Kun says, and Ten can’t be sure how many times Kun has repeated himself to cut through the noise in Ten's head, how much time has passed. He hates when he loses track like this. When he looks at him, all he thinks he can see in Kun’s eyes is pity. God, that’s the worst. “Please drink some water,” Kun says, holding the glass up for him.

Ten takes it. He swallows it down. It does nothing to loosen the vice around his chest. He might as well choke on it. “I’m sorry,” Ten says again. “I’m sorry, but I can’t--”

“I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable,” Kun says. 

“ _ I _ kissed  _ you _ ,” Ten insists, unsure what point he’s trying to make. 

Still, Kun seems to understand. “It doesn’t mean there aren’t boundaries within that. I’m sorry I crossed one for you. I really am. Do you...want to talk about it?”

“What?” Ten’s head feels like it’s spinning in bewilderment. Nothing makes sense and it’s all happening very, very fast. There's a strange buzzing in his ears. “Wait, what?”

“Ten, look at me.” 

Ten looks at him. The world straightens itself, orbiting around the epicenter that is Kun. 

“I don’t want to leave you, but it’s getting late, and I’ve got to get back to Yangyang. Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Ten says, on autopilot.

Kun’s mouth twists into an unhappy, tight line. “I could, I could bring Yangyang here. Or you could come with me. If you want. I just want to make sure you’re--”

“I’ll be fine,” Ten says again, and he will be. He doesn’t need coddling, and he certainly doesn’t need pity. “Really.”

Kun sighs, and a tiny fissure forms in the weak walls of Ten’s heart. Ten had really thought this could work. He’d really wanted it to. But now he’s gone and ruined it all. He can see it in the way Kun’s face pulls downwards, the frown in his eyes. “Ten…”

Ten finally gains control back of his limbs and uses this control to push himself off the couch. He takes their glasses of wine and pads over to the kitchen carefully, dumping out Kun’s glass and taking a big swig of his own. The alcohol burns on the way down. 

Kun is putting on his shoes in the entryway. He pauses outside the kitchen, the light making the skin on his face look waxen, ashy. He looks tired, and Ten wonders if he’d done that to him. “Ten,” Kun tries again, a pleading note in his voice. “I really, really like you.”

The glass Ten’s holding clatters into the sink.

Kun continues, “So I’d really like to talk about this with you, okay? Whenever you’re ready. I won’t push.”

The backs of Ten’s eyes feel like smoldering coals. He hears the front door opening, and calls out Kun’s name, striding over to him. At the threshold, he pauses before the other man, and reaches up with unsteady hands to cup Kun’s cheeks, mustering up all the courage and hope left in his body, which doesn't feel like much, to be brave. “I like you, too,” Ten says, rising up onto his toes to kiss Kun on the mouth. Just once, just quickly. “Thank you.”

Kun’s lips brush over Ten’s forehead. “Good night, sweetheart,” he says into Ten’s hair.

“Good night,” Ten manages, as Kun walks away.

He closes the front door. In a daze, he makes it to the couch just as the tears come.

.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ten has a pretty tough time in this chapter. you can dm me if you want specifics before reading? though the tags encompass it, i think. stay safe <3

It's raining in the morning when Ten wakes up, the kind of rain that seems to seep into the sidewalks and pavement, that makes the whole city droop in weariness. The sky is grey and fat with dense clouds, and in the distance Ten can hear thunder. He trudges to the cafe with an aching, stiff hip and the unslakeable urge to pop all of the joints in his fingers and wrists, as though that could help his body feel like it's his own again. 

Because of the storm, foot traffic to the cafe is slow after the usual morning rush, and Ten finds himself sitting on a stool behind the register with nothing much to do, the glow of his iPad in front of him on the counter making his head pound. 

Sleep had not come easy. It rarely does, so Ten's learned to live with it, but still. Last night had been hard. After Kun left, the doubts had started and quickly threatened to overtake him, like the way a single grain of sand can tip the scales. Ten's always been light on his feet, though, and this balancing act is one that's becoming more habitual for him by the day. 

Yoga doesn't always work, but last night he'd pushed himself with a difficult practice that left him dripping with sweat and heaving for breath by the end of it, and for those few hours his mind had been wonderfully, blissfully neutral.  _ Just focus here, on this one part of your body, root yourself to the ground, _ the yogi told him in the video he chose.  _ Now here, and here.  _

He'd hoped the exercise would exhaust him enough so he could drop off into an easy sleep after showering, but thoughts of how the date went with Kun kept him tossing and turning for most of the night. Dinner had been so lovely. _Kun_ had been so lovely. But what if Ten could never kiss him again, after last night? What if every time they tried to get close to each other, seeking intimacy, his body would just shut down, or fight back? What if everything he was learning with Taeil was just surface-level, like cosmetic band-aids to cover up the ugliness inside of him? What if Ten was broken in a way that could never be fixed?

The bell above the cafe door chimes, and when Ten looks up it's Xuxi, sporting a grin on his wet face and sliding his bright pink umbrella into the bin by the entrance. He's wearing a waterproof windbreaker, shorts, and sandals, his bottom half completely soaked. Rain beats against the windows.

"Xuxi," Ten greets, climbing off his stool and trying to smile. Xuxi's grin is bright and unrestrained, and it's hard not to mirror it back to him despite the storm outside. "What brings you here?"

"Meeting with my agent in the Village later," Xuxi says, coming up to the counter. "I asked if we could reschedule because of the shit weather, but she said she's bringing someone with her who I have to meet in person."

"Sounds very official," Ten muses aloud. He slides his iPad under the counter. "What can I get you?"

"Do you have anything, like, kind of sweet and savory? Like, black sesame? With soy."

"I haven't made a black sesame latte in a while, but I can do that for you."

Xuxi's smile grows even wider as he leans against the counter with his hip. "Thanks, man."

Ten rings him up at the register and flips the screen of the tablet over to Xuxi for him to finish the transaction. He has to dig deep into the shelves under the counter to find the jar of roasted black sesame seeds, but when he finds it, he cheers a little in triumph. Xuxi watches him work. Ten's done this so many times by now that it's almost meditative, tamping down the ground coffee beans, grinding the sesame, mixing the drink, foaming the soy milk. Ten spends extra seconds drawing lines into the foam. 

When Ten hands Xuxi the drink, topped with foam art of a kitten's face with whiskers, Xuxi laughs, taking the paper cup carefully into his hands. 

"I love it," Xuxi says. 

"You don't know that; you've got to try it, first."

"I meant the kitty," Xuxi explains with a giggle. "It's cute."

"Thanks." Ten sits back down onto his stool, his right leg stuck out straight because the angle of the seat aggravates his hip. Xuxi stands there, dripping water onto the floor, sipping the latte Ten's made for him. "Good?"

"Amazing." Xuxi smacks his lips together and throws a little chef's kiss into the air to emphasize his point. "I can see why Kun likes you."

“Ah.” Ten exhales like something had hit him in the stomach. He crosses his arms over his middle and slouches in his seat, smile dimming just a fraction. “Is that so?”

“Shit. I shouldn’t have said anything.” But still Xuxi is grinning, and Ten has a feeling he doesn’t actually regret what he said at all. “You didn’t hear it from me, okay?”

“Sure,” Ten says, “it’ll stay between you and me.”

He should be happy to hear it from Xuxi, that Kun likes him, but as Xuxi shakes out his umbrella and heads back out into the rain with his black sesame latte, Ten’s stomach turns, worry forming a twisted knot inside of him. Kun likes him now, but will he like him in the uncertainty of  _ later, _  after Ten’s peeled back layers of scar tissue to show him his softest, most vulnerable parts? Ten can’t say; not when he can barely look at these parts himself.

.

That night, after takeout for dinner and two glasses of white wine on the couch while not really watching  _ Queer Eye _ as the episodes blend together in front of him, Ten calls Sicheng.

“Ten,” Sicheng answers, succinct and solid, yet still warm. It's like his voice is a wall, and suddenly Ten is a tidal wave of emotion slamming into it.

“Sicheng,” Ten says, his voice wobbling no matter how hard he tries to suppress it. “Are you busy?”

“No, just watching some anime with Yuta again. I don’t get it, but he bought me the good wine to go with it, so I can sit through it. Are you okay? You sound...stressed.”

Amazing, how Sicheng can pick up on Ten’s emotional state with just a few uttered words. Ten swallows the hard lump forming in his throat. “I don't think so," he admits with gritted teeth. His voice climbs the more he speaks, distress clawing its way up his esophagus. “Think I’m backsliding. Can you come over, please? Or, or can I come to you?”

On his television, Tan is showing the episode’s hero how a well-fitting pair of pants can change the way he sees himself and the way others see him, and Ten despairs. What happens if you can’t cleave yourself from the marks someone else has left on you? A pair of nice pants isn’t going to change that for Ten. 

“Ten?” Sicheng’s asking. “Ten, I’ll be there in 20, okay? I’m going to take a car. What are you doing right now?”

“Watching  _ Queer Eye _ ,” Ten mumbles into the phone, sinking down into the couch until he’s horizontal. He pulls the throw blanket hanging over the back of the couch down to cover his body and lays his head on a small, square pillow squished against the armrest.

“Okay, good. Keep watching that. I’ll be there soon. Just hang tight until I get there, okay?”

“Okay,” Ten says. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.” Sicheng hangs up, and Ten pours another glass of wine for himself from the bottle on the coffee table.

.

“I’m sorry,” Ten says when he answers the door, throw blanket draped over his shoulders like a cape. 

Sicheng plucks the glass of wine from his fingers and turns Ten with a gentle hand at his elbow, guiding him back to the couch. He takes care not to let the door slam. “It’s fine,” Sicheng says quietly. “I didn’t like the show Yuta picked, anyway.”

“You should be with him.” Ten plops himself down onto the cushions, burrowing inside of his blanket as his head spins. Maybe he shouldn’t have had that third glass so quickly. Maybe he shouldn’t have had a fourth while waiting for Sicheng to weave his way out of the unexpected traffic. “Not me. I’m sorry.”

“I’m _always_ with Yuta. I can bear to spend less time with him, I promise you that.” Sicheng is patient, tapping Ten’s covered feet to get him to make room for him on the couch, and when he sits, he drapes his arm over the back of the furniture, his body language open and inviting. “Come on, then.”

It takes forever for Ten to rearrange himself in the other direction on the couch, and he grumbles while doing so in the narrow space, his limbs getting tangled in the blanket, but eventually he’s able to fit himself against Sicheng’s side with his knees drawn up to his chest. Sighs when Sicheng’s arm comes to rest around his shoulders. “Thanks for coming,” Ten says.

“Of course,” Sicheng responds in a low voice. “Now are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or are we just going to sit here?”

“Can we just sit here for a while?” Ten asks as the room tilts though he’s sitting very still. Closing his eyes makes the room tilt far in the other direction, though, so in the end he opens them and tries to focus on the scene on TV, Antoni from  _ Queer Eye _ showing a nice fireman how to make fancy hot dogs. He wonders if Kun likes hot dogs. Ten’s not a huge fan, but he’ll eat them if the occasion calls for it. Not that he can think of any occasion that would truly call for a hot dog over anything else, right now. He screws his eyes shut and wrinkles his nose, thinking.

“What’s up?” Sicheng asks. “What’s going on with you?”

“Thinking about if Kun likes hot dogs.” Ten’s words slur a bit leaving his mouth, and his head droops against Sicheng’s shoulder.

Sicheng giggles in a much higher pitch than he speaks. “Aw, you’re tipsy.”

“I drank.” Ten pauses, looking for the bottle on the coffee table. It’s empty. Huh, when did that happen? “The whole thing,” he finishes with a wave of his hand.

“You’re not gonna be happy with yourself tomorrow, sweetie. And you’re going to be knocked out soon.”

“That would be nice,” Ten sighs.

“Ten,” Sicheng says, his hand on his shoulder now, squeezing lightly in reassurance. “What happened? Why don't you think you're okay. I’m worried.”

Alcohol has a way of making very hard things fuzzy around the edges, cushioning the impact of their blows, so it doesn’t feel as jagged as it should when Ten tells Sicheng the truth: “I thought I was getting better.”

Still, each word is like a thorn being dragged across his throat. It hurts, it slices him to ribbons and leaves him unbearably raw. A sob wells up and gurgles out of him suddenly and when he cries, there’s no relief. Just more pressure on his ribs, on his lungs, the weight of his own grief suffocating him. He feels Sicheng carefully wrap his arms around him, feels him guide his face to the crook of his shoulder. The fullness of his emotion makes Ten shake against him.

“You  _ are  _ getting better,” Sicheng whispers fiercely into his ear.

“No,” Ten cries. “I’m not. I’m not -- it’s too hard, Sicheng. Every time I think I’ve made progress, something happens that brings me back to square one.”

“Square one? Come on.” Sicheng says incredulously. He pulls back from his embrace, holding Ten by his shoulders and trying to meet Ten’s eyes. “Do you remember square one? Because I do. And you’re far, far from it.”

“No,” Ten mutters, weak, hating his own uncertainty. He leans against Sicheng's hands heavily, and eventually Sicheng lets him rest his forehead against his shoulder again. “I thought I was ready,” Ten says into his friend's shirt. “I thought I could do it.”

“Do what?” Sicheng's voice is as soft as Ten's ever heard it. His hands brush over his upper back, careful and gentle, attempting to comfort.

“Be with someone,” Ten says. A fresh wave of tears spills out of him. He feels like he's grieving, but for what? 

Hope, Ten realizes. And the belief that he wasn't ruined beyond repair.

Sicheng's chest stills underneath him. “Is this about Kun?”

Ten's breath shudders inside of him. His lungs are made of unyielding glass, and when he tries to draw in more air he can't seem to remember how.  _ Is _ this about Kun? Perhaps at first it was. But the initial sting of Ten's panic at Kun's soft hands brushing over his skin has spread like poison, seeped into him, colored his blood. It's not just about Kun; it's about the years Ten spent with that man, in that relationship, thinking if only Ten were prettier, or smarter, or could work his mouth in the ways the other wanted him to, then maybe he'd stop hurting him. Maybe he'd be worthy of love. Maybe now that Ten's left him he'll never figure out if he's worthy or not.

“No,” Ten says in a small voice, “this is about me.”

He cries for a while longer against Sicheng’s steady frame, and when he stops crying, he feels sick, all the wine sloshing around inside of his stomach. Sicheng herds him to the bathroom, then, the blanket drifting from Ten's shoulders to the floor along the way, and Ten throws up his guts into the toilet bowl. 

“You’re okay,” Sicheng murmurs from behind him, over and over, his presence like the warmth and glow of a candle's flame. He keeps his hand cupped around Ten’s forehead to keep his long bangs back and to keep him from falling in. “You’ll feel better once it’s all out.”

“I’m a dumb mess,” Ten tells him, but Sicheng rubs his back and Ten’s sick again in the toilet.

“Get it all out,” Sicheng repeats, encourages.

When his heaving has subsided, Sicheng helps him up, gets him to gurgle and spit water, rubs a small towel over his face while Ten bats at him like a kitten at a toy, and readies Ten’s toothbrush and toothpaste for him. “I’m not doing that for you,” he says drily when Ten pouts at him. “Clean up some more, and then come back out. We’re gonna talk.”

.

Sicheng is still waiting for him on the couch when Ten re-emerges from the bathroom, teeth brushed twice and face scrubbed again, having taken a detour into his own bedroom to change into pajamas, a soft white long-sleeved shirt and wide-legged cotton pants. The world is still unsteady under his feet, but he manages to pad over to join Sicheng on the cushions in one piece.

“Better?” Sicheng asks, drawing Ten to him and letting him lay his head on his lap. 

“Yeah,” Ten answers in a scratchy voice. “A bit.”

“You wanna tell me what’s going on, now?”

Ten shrugs. Sicheng’s thighs are firm under his cheek. He rests his hand over his friend’s knee. “I got in my own head,” he says.

Sicheng starts to run his fingers through Ten’s hair, applying light pressure at his temples, over the crown of his scalp. Ten exhales as the tension leaves his body with Sicheng’s near-magical touch, and Sicheng hums at him to continue.

“I like Kun so much.” Ten hiccups. “But I’m scared.”

“Of what? Of him?”

Ten slants his eyes toward Sicheng in a glare. “No! I couldn’t be.”

Sicheng chuckles, fingers never pausing. “Shh, okay. Then what?”

“What if it’s me?” Ten asks. “What if people are normal before they get with me and _I’m_ the one who changes them?” 

Sicheng sighs in response, and Ten worries. Worries that he’s upset him, that he’s disappointed him. 

His fingers still in Ten’s hair and Ten whines at the loss. Sicheng says, “The man who abused you didn’t change into someone horrible because of you. He was a monster.”

Ten’s heard it before. Ten’s heard it over a hundred times. Each time he hears it is like chipping away at statue made of granite with a single nail. One day, he thinks, the line will stick, when he's worn down the stone into something smoother, more malleable. He turns in Sicheng’s lap and buries his face into Sicheng’s stomach. “What if all I ever have are monsters?”

“Ten, look at me.” Sicheng draws him up even though Ten does his best to stay wilted and limp in his lap. “Look at me,” Sicheng repeats, propping him up against the armrest, a little winded from moving him. His eyes bore into Ten’s like he’s trying to hypnotize him. “I know you’re scared. Believe me, I get it. You  _ know  _ I get it. What happened to you is not your fault."

Ten nods. He knows this. Mentally, intellectually, whatever. It registers in his pre-frontal cortex. He _knows_ it's not his fault. It's another beast entirely to get himself to believe it. “What if by the time I’m ready, he’s already moved on?” 

“You go at your own pace,” Sicheng says. “No one else’s. And if he’s worth anything, he’ll respect that.”

“But I’m too much to handle,” Ten whispers shakily, but even to him it feels like he’s just desperately clinging to the familiar cocoon of dread and self-loathing rather than breaking free of it to venture into the unknown.

“Let him decide that for himself. And you’re not too much to handle. Sure, you can be too quick for your own good sometimes, and your sense of humor is a little lame, but you’re  _ good _ , Ten. You’re sweet, and kind, and you pay attention to the people around you and give them free cookies when you notice they’re feeling down.”

Sicheng's gaze intensifies, as though he could push conviction into Ten through sight alone. Though his eyes are dark, his cheeks are bright, glowing with color. Ten knows Sicheng would do just about anything for him. It's the same for Ten.

“And I’m cute, too,” Ten sniffs. “Right?”

“Super duper,” Sicheng says, completely deadpan and serious.

Ten can’t help it when a giggle bubbles out of him. 

A smile breaks over Sicheng’s face, beautiful and pure. He brushes his thumbs under Ten’s eyes, where the skin is tender and puffy from crying. “I know it’s hard sometimes to feel like you deserve it, but it’s okay to fall in love and let yourself be happy, Ten. You’re gonna be okay. And if you’re not, you’ve got us. Always. Okay?”

Ten’s chest fills with warmth. “You’ve got me, too.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sicheng smirks. “Now text Mark that you’re going to need him to open tomorrow. Your hangover is going to be  _ fierce _ .”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you made it! cute things will follow in the next chapter!


	12. Chapter 12

Ten wakes up in his own bed, his mouth as dry as styrofoam and his eyelids glued together. With difficulty, he pries his eyelids open, a Herculean effort. On his nightstand, he sees a glass of water, two little white tabs of ibuprofen, his phone, and a handwritten note. He recognizes Sicheng's messy scrawl and snatches the paper up, noticing that it's been torn from the thicker quality sheets of his old sketchpads. He scowls as he brings the note closer to his face, thinking how Sicheng is so dramatic to have gone searching for paper like that when he could have easily just left him a text. Obviously, Sicheng wanted to make a statement.

 _Ten, you are my favorite mess_ , Sicheng has left for him to read. _But I had to run to meet Yuta. There's a breakfast sandwich in the microwave. EAT IT. Next time let's drink the wine TOGETHER._

 _Together_ has been underlined three times. Ten cracks a smile, rubbing the crust from his eyes with his free hand and stretching a bit under the covers before reading on.

_Take some painkillers and the day off. Mark's got you covered! Call me if you need anything. -S_

The gears in Ten's brain start to catch up with the morning and Sicheng's words on the paper. He puts the note back on the nightstand and rolls onto his back, breathing in deep and pointing his toes, lengthening his body. He doesn't really hurt, which is nice. He's just tired, and he thinks he'll be able to manage without the ibuprofen. Maybe he'll make it down to the cafe, after all.

 _The cafe_.

Ten's body starfishes on the bed -- like when you’re dreaming about falling and slam back into your senses just before hitting the ground -- as the weight of his responsibilities steamrolls over him. Just as quickly, he remembers that Mark is supposed to be there in his stead. He rolls over again to grab his phone from the table, checking his messages to see if Mark has contacted him.

 _ples open tmwro thans,_ he sees in his message history with Mark. Ten suppresses a groan. The timestamp of that text is just past ten in the evening last night. It’s now a little after nine in the morning, and Mark's returning messages are:

_(10:17pm) hyung?? You okay??_

_(10:25pm) Its cool, i can totally open tmw…_

_(11:13pm) I can't believe you passed out drunk and left me on read_

Ten doesn't remember checking his messages from Mark last night, but he must have. He rubs at his eyes again before pushing himself up onto his elbows, eventually and with much effort propping himself against the head of his bed and the mountain of pillows now behind his back.

 _I'm so sorry,_ he sends Mark. _thank you for everything...are you okay at the cafe?_

When Mark doesn't answer within ten seconds of Ten sending the text, he decides to call the cafe instead. Someone who is not Mark answers on the third ring.

“Hello, this is _Ten Teaspoons_ , how can I help you?”

It takes a solid couple of seconds for Ten to place the voice. “Dejun?” he asks. “What are you _doing_?”

“Hey!” Dejun responds cheerfully. “Ten Ge! That’s you, right? Oh, I'm just helping Mark out at the cafe.”

Ten holds his phone against his ear with one hand and pinches the bridge of his nose with his other. “I don’t -- I don’t pay you.”

"I know," Dejun says simply.

Ten can hear the low murmur of customers chatting in the background, imagines he can even hear the espresso machine grinding a fresh batch of beans. Now his head actually is starting to hurt, right between his eyes, and he shifts from pinching the bridge of his nose to ironing out the wrinkle forming in his forehead there with his two first fingers instead, hoping to stave off a stronger headache. The light streaming in through his dark curtains is still piercing and bright. "You can't work there if I don't pay you," Ten explains slowly.

"I know!" Dejun says again, putting even more pep into his tone. "I stopped by this morning by coincidence and Mark said I could hang out behind the counter with him."

A rustle on the other line, and then what sounds like Mark's voice, slightly muffled as though Dejun has clapped his palm over Mark's mouth. Ten squints, like that will help him hear better. Obviously, it doesn't, but he makes out the words _you're just waiting around_ and _you’re such a loser just DM him_ before there’s a squawk and a beat of silence.

"What did Mark say?"

"Nothing!" Dejun answers shrilly and slightly short on breath. "Anyway, I'm just hanging out. Answering the phone sometimes. Providing my unconditional support as a good friend. Mark gave me three shots of espresso so I'm good to go for as long as he needs!"

“Uh huh, okay,” Ten says in a flat voice. It really is none of his business what Dejun wants to do with his free time. If he says he’s just hanging out with Mark then he’s just hanging out with Mark. So what if Dejun always volunteers to help set up for open mic night, even staying after to break down the event with Ten? He’s a good kid, who makes a pretty decent cup of coffee if the two times Ten has let him tamper with the machines have proven anything, and who has a customer-service smile that could charm the horns off the devil. It gets him thinking about the months-old question of if Ten should bring on another part-timer.

But in this very moment, Ten decides that’s a question for his future self.

“Put Mark on, please,” Ten requests with the air of a parent at the end of their rope after having been told their kid has once again been caught licking rocks on the playground.

“Right away!”

A beat.

“Sup, boss.” Mark’s voice is smooth and salesman-like, exuding calm.

Ten releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “On a scale from 1 to 10, 10 being total catastrophe, how are you holding up?”

“10,” Mark answers swiftly, causing panic to flood Ten’s chest, then recede like the ocean at low-tide when he continues hastily, “Wait! It’s a 1. Your scale is confusing. This is the opposite of a total catastrophe. It’s a total dogostrophe. Heh.”

“Mark!” Strangely, the absence of panic in his chest makes Ten feel a little nauseated. Or maybe it was Mark's lame joke.

“I’m serious! We’re fine! Stay home if you’re sick or hungover or whatever. We’ve got it covered. Don’t worry your pretty head about the cafe.”

“I’m _not_ hungover,” Ten says just as the nausea bubbles up into the base of his throat. He remembers the water on the nightstand and reaches for it, glancing at the ibuprofen before shrugging and taking those into his palm as well. He knocks the pills back and chases them down with a swig of water. His stomach gurgles pathetically at the intrusion, then grumbles in hunger. God, bodies have so many _needs_.

“You know, Kun asked about you on Sunday, when he came home after your date.”

All of the blood in Ten’s body seems to leave him in that moment. He feels as dry and withered as a desert. “Yeah?” he rasps.

“Yeah. He asked me for advice. On what to do if he thought he upset you.”

Ten swallows. “What’d you tell him?”

“I told him he’d have to give me $200 on top of what he was paying me already to start to make amends.”

“ _Mark_.” Despite trying to keep his tone serious, Ten finds himself chuckling. “You didn’t.”

“No,” Mark admits with a sigh. “I told him I probably wasn’t the best person to ask, because I’ve never upset you once in my life. Ever. But that if I were to do that, I’d probably give you a little space first -- but not too much space -- before approaching you again and apologizing. With flowers. Lots of flowers. And other such romantic gestures.”

“You want to romance me, Mark Lee?”

“Uh, gross? No way. You’re, like, ancient or something.”

Ten laughs, and he hears Mark laughing along with him. “You think you’re hilarious.”

“I _am_ pretty funny,” Mark says.

“Thanks,” Ten says sincerely, before Mark can say anything else to derail the moment. "Seriously. Thanks for everything.”

“You’re welcome,” Mark says. “Also, Kun stopped by and I told him you were sick, so he’s probably going to call you or text you in the next hour or so because he looked worried. Okay? Cool. Bye!”

The line goes dead, and Ten curses aloud.

.

Ten finishes the glass of water and decides his next best move is to lounge in bed with his limbs akimbo and forearm resting over his forehead like a figure in a pin-up poster as the throbbing in his head subsides. From experience, he's 90% certain the headache is stemming from dehydration, and he thinks about getting up in the next half hour or so for another glass of water. He should probably also eat that sad breakfast sandwich sitting in its own grease in his microwave that Sicheng got for him. He should probably also message Sicheng to let him know he's alive.

Before he can get to any of those things, though, his phone rings, and Ten, thinking it must be Mark calling back to apologize for hanging up on him so abruptly, answers. "What, is the cafe on fire?"

"What?" Kun asks.

"What!?" Ten yells.

"I don't think the cafe is on fire, last I checked, but I can--"

"I thought you were Mark," Ten cuts in, wishing he could hide his head in the sand like an ostrich. Burying his face under the covers invokes a similar feeling, but Kun can't see him anyway, so it's mostly for his own benefit. "Sorry."

Kun chuckles, and the sound is bright even coming out of his phone’s tinny speakers. “No worries. How’re you feeling?”

“Are you calling to check up on me?” Ten bites into his bottom lip, a pleased grin fighting against his teeth despite himself.

“Mark said you were sick. And, well, we got worried. Was it the rain yesterday? It marooned me and Yangyang in our little apartment. Yangyang almost went crazy.”

“It wasn’t the rain, and I’m not really sick,” Ten says. His grin falls. The air is stuffy and too still under the covers, so he pushes his way out from underneath them, inhaling the cooler air deeply when he breaks through to the surface. “I’m just,” Ten starts, then stops. “I’m just.”

He doesn’t really have a word to describe what he’s feeling. Last night, he was bone-sad. The kind of sad that sits like poison in your marrow. Today, he’s not anything. Just a blip. He thinks he can function just fine, and he will. He’ll carry on, just shy of zombie-like, until someone or something snaps him out of it. He knows after many sessions with Taeil that this often happens after Ten spirals into old memories of his ex. But that’s not exactly something he wants to explain to Kun just yet. “I’ll be okay,” he finishes, a quiet determination to his words.

Silence from Kun for a moment that feels three heartbeats too long. Then Kun says, "I believe you," and a lovely, warm feeling overtakes the murky emotions that had been lingering in his chest cavity. Ten smiles. "Um, this might be weird, but if you're up to it, would you mind talking to Yangyang for a little bit? He heard you were sick and...well…" Kun clears his throat uncomfortably. Ten leaps at the chance to help Kun out with something instead of the other way around.

"Yeah, sure, put him on. Would it help if we switch to video?"

"Honestly? Probably. But you don't have to do that--"

"Put him on. I wanna talk to the little cutie."

Ten knows you can't actually hear a person smile, but he imagines he can hear Kun's, when he laughs quietly and hums.

"Okay, just a sec. I'll call you back."

Kun hangs up, and within a few seconds, Ten's phone begins to vibrate again, this time with a video call. He sits up in bed and drags his fingers through his hair, hoping his bedhead isn't too horrible, and adjusts the neckline of his shirt to cover his collarbones. He answers and immediately sees an extreme close up of Yangyang's face, the child’s cheeks slightly blotchy and wet.

"Gege," Yangyang whines, grabbing the phone with both hands and bringing it to his ear. All Ten can see is Yangyang's hair. There's a bit of a shuffle as the phone switches back to Kun's hands so he can show Yangyang the screen, and the kid's face lights up when he sees Ten. "Gege! You're not dead?!" Yangyang exclaims in Mandarin.

"No, I'm not, baby," Ten answers smoothly, the rounded syllables of Mandarin sitting comfortably on his tongue. "Did you cry? I'm okay, see?" He brings the phone closer and wiggles his eyebrows and purses his lips at Yangyang, who giggles at Ten's silly faces.

"Why aren't you here!" Yangyang yells, sinking down into his father's lap. He crosses his arms dramatically over his tummy and pouts fantastically. From the background, Ten can see they're still at the cafe. There are customers milling about behind them, and the visual confirmation that the cafe hasn't befallen some unavoidable disaster helps Ten feel more settled.

"I was a little...hurt...this morning," Ten explains, not sure quite what word to use to describe "anticipating a hangover" as his reason for not going into the cafe today. "But now your Gege is feeling a little better."

"We want to see you!" Yangyang says. He drops the pout and looks up at his father -- Kun's face can't be seen in the screen -- with dazzling, pleading eyes. "So Gege can feel better."

Ten grins. "You want to help me feel better?"

Kun angles the phone so that Ten can see him and Yangyang both. His hair falls in a soft sweep over his forehead today, and he looks entirely too casual and comfortable in a t-shirt that has seen better days, a pair of sunglasses balanced over his head. "That was all Yangyang, I promise," he says in English. "We don't need to come over. I mean, I'd love to, but if you want time alone I'd understand."

"Come over," Ten says.

"What?" Kun's mouth falls open.

Ten bites the inside of his cheek, jaw working. Truthfully, he wishes he could spend the whole day hiding under the covers, but he thinks about last night and wants to put it far, far behind him. He wants to do something about it. He wants change, though he knows it will be terribly difficult. Sicheng said he should go at his own pace, and this is the pace Ten wants to set. "Come over. Bring Yangyang. I wanted -- I wanted to talk to you, anyway. If that's okay."

"Are you sure?"

Ten nods. Kun's expression is unreadable; then, he smiles as Yangyang cheers and bounces in his lap.

"Okay," Kun huffs, groaning when Yangyang bounces a little too hard. He holds Yangyang down with a strong arm around his son's middle. "Baobao, sit still. Have you had breakfast -- lunch yet?"

Ten grimaces. "No, but Sicheng -- my friend -- left me a breakfast sandwich…"

Kun's eyes widen. "You mean a pile of grease? You can't eat that when you're sick!"

"I'm not sick--"

Kun shakes his head. "Unacceptable. I'm bringing you food. Can we come over in, oh, thirty?"

"Yeah, that's perfect."

"Great, we'll see you in a little while, then. Yangyang, say bye to Ten."

Yangyang waves and blows Ten a kiss, and Ten's heart flops into his stomach. The kid is too cute sometimes. Ten blows a kiss back as Kun's face comes into view again.

"Also," Kun says in Mandarin. "Your Chinese is good." Ten blushes prettily over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. The tone of Kun's voice dips lower when he speaks in Mandarin, something Ten noticed whenever he spoke to his son, whereas for Ten it's the opposite. When he speaks Mandarin, his tone goes just a little higher than usual. Being on the receiving end of Kun's low, raspy Mandarin is doing fluttery things to Ten's insides. Then Kun tilts his head and says, "It sounds really cute when you speak it. I can't wait to hear more."

He hangs up with Ten still gaping like a fish on the end of a line.

.

After shooting Sicheng a text to thank him again and to let him know he’s alive, Ten rolls up to sitting and throws his feet over the side of the bed, testing the weight of his own body on them before standing. Even if he isn’t sick _or_ very hungover, the outpouring of emotions last night has left him drained and a little woozy. He pads over to the bathroom gingerly, jumping a little when he catches his own reflection in the mirror over the sink.

His hair looks like a bird made a nest in it. So much for hoping his bedhead wasn’t too bad on the phone with Kun. Grumbling at his own misfortune, Ten turns and runs the shower, testing the temperature of the water and letting steam build up in the bathroom.

Ten peels his pajamas from his body, leaving them on the counter. Then he steps under the spray of water and closes his eyes.

The water is good to him. Nights like the last are like battles with monsters. Ten imagines the ichor and guts and blood caked onto his skin from his struggles with his beasts breaking apart under the droplets and running down the drain. He cleans himself with lavender and citrus-scented soaps, and re-emerges with dewy, glowing skin. Then, deciding that he doesn’t have enough time to choose an outfit for Kun’s visit, he towel-dries his hair and changes back into his pajamas. He brushes his teeth, applies 3 types of creams to his face, and practices his smile in the mirror.

Five minutes into an article on paper straws he’s reading on his iPad on the couch, the buzzer sounds, the noise grating and abrupt. Ten stands, heart spiking in his chest, and goes to let Kun and Yangyang in, buzzing them through the front door downstairs and waiting for their footsteps on the squeaky staircase up to his floor.

“Remember the rules?” Ten hears Kun saying on the steps. Yangyang says something quietly that Ten can’t make out through the door, but it must satisfy Kun, because he says, “That’s right, baby. Now, do you want to knock?”

Yangyang knocks three times.

“Who is it?” Ten calls out, sing-song.

“It’s Yangyang!” Yangyang says excitedly and loudly. “I mean,” his voice drops to a loud stage whisper. “ _It’s Yangyang._ ”

Ten opens the door and Yangyang charges through, latching himself onto Ten’s legs with such speed and force that Ten is knocked back a couple of steps before regaining his balance. “Oof!”

“Yangyang!” Kun scolds sternly. He looks at Ten a little helplessly. "Hi, Ten…"

“It’s fine,” Ten says, laughing and squatting so he can hug Yangyang properly. “He’s fine!” Yangyang’s little body fits perfectly in the circle of Ten’s arms, but Ten falls to his knees when Yangyang starts trying to climb him like he’s monkey bars at a park. “Woah, I missed you, too, little guy.”

“Ten Ge was hurt!” Yangyang says. He latches his arms around Ten’s neck and hangs, and Ten has no choice but to scoop him up under his bottom, holding him close. “Yangyang and Baba are here now, don’t worry.”

With a grunt, Ten stands, adjusting to Yangyang’s weight in his arms. “I’m fine now that you’ve come to save me,” he says in English, and Yangyang actually pulls back to look Ten dead in the eyes with the unrestrained judgment of a child before collapsing into his neck in a fit of giggles again.

Meanwhile, Kun is hovering, a bag of groceries in one hand and his shoes in the other. “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t have to hold him like that,” he says, turning to and fro with the shoes before he decides to place them by the front door, with the others.

“That’s nonsense,” Ten huffs. “Of course I have to hold him like this.”

Kun puts the groceries down by the entrance to the tiny kitchen and walks over, hands outstretched. “Here, let me at least--” He walks over to un-velcro Yangyang’s shoes from his feet, slipping one off his wriggling son. Kun smells like coffee, and cinnamon, and a hint of vanilla. There's a smear of flour at his temple.

"Were you baking?" Ten asks.

Kun blinks at him, working on the other shoe. His face is so close to Ten's that he can count the fine, near-invisible laughter lines forming at the outer corners of Kun's eyes. "We were, this morning. You can tell? Xuxi and Yeri are coming over tonight, and Yangyang wanted to bake them a cake."

"You've got flour," Ten says with a curl to his lips, shifting Yangyang to rest more heavily against one hip so he can point at the spot at Kun's temple.

"Oh," Kun says sheepishly, rubbing at the spot. He misses it, and without thinking, Ten reaches over and brushes his fingers over Kun's skin, and Kun tilts his head toward him. "Thanks."

Ten retracts his hand quickly. "You're welcome." His gaze drifts to the bag of groceries by the kitchen floor. "Did you really bring me food?"

"I did. Can I use your kitchen?"

Tens eyes widen. He nods and pads toward the kitchen, Yangyang still clinging to him as Kun follows. "You're gonna cook?"

"Just something simple and healthy," Kun says. "If that's okay."

"It's okay," Ten says, showing Kun where all their pots and pans and utensils are. "But it's just -- backwards, isn't it?"

Kun grins, leaning back with both elbows on the counter. "How so? Yangyang, let Ten rest, baby."

Yangyang shakes his head against Ten's shoulder, clinging tighter. "Wanna play," he whines.

Ten's arms are starting to burn a little, but if Yangyang wants to stay right where he is, who's Ten to say otherwise? Ten pats Yangyang's bottom and says, "Okay, sweetie." To Kun, Ten says, "You're in my kitchen. I should be cooking something for _you_ , right?"

Kun says, "If that’s a rule or something, I’ve never heard of it. Besides, I want to do something for you. Let me do this for you?" Ten watches Kun lug the bag of groceries to the counter. He takes out a small, perfectly formed onion, a bulb of garlic, a bundle of long spring green onions, and a container of yellow noodles. Kun pauses after all the ingredients have been laid out on the counter, looking to Ten as though for permission to continue.

With a start, Ten realizes he _is_ waiting for his permission, that he respects Ten enough to seek it out. Ten wonders in the back of his mind if, should he say the word, Kun would pack everything up and leave, just like that. Would he be angry, after? Would he find some way to retaliate?

Ten doesn't think Kun would ever do something like that.

"Okay," Ten nods, chewing on his bottom lip. "Okay, thank you. Do you need anything?"

"Soy sauce?"

Ten points out where the sauces and oils are in his cabinets, and Kun brings down a bottle of dark and a bottle of light soy sauce, as well as a small bottle of sesame oil Ten forgot they had.

"And I need for you to sit down in your living room, and take it easy," Kun says. A dimple forms in his left cheek from his smile. Ten itches to kiss it, but they haven't talked about what happened two nights ago between them yet, and he knows they have to do that before anything else, so Ten leaves Kun with a smirk and a, "Don't burn down my kitchen," retreating to the living room and settling himself and Yangyang on the couch, where the kid magically pulls 5 toy cars out of his pockets and proceeds to tell Ten in intricate detail the histories behind each one.

.

The pillow Ten is cuddling breathes loudly out of its mouth. Ten shifts in his sleep and is met with a snort, then something wet pressed against the side of his neck, but at least the snoring has stopped. He teeters on the edge of consciousness, dreaming about race cars. Yangyang is driving and Ten is in the passenger seat, holding on for dear life.

“Am I the best driver, or what?” Yangyang yells above the roar of the engine.

“What?”

“Food’s ready. Or do you want to sleep some more?”

Ten blinks and sees a figure looming over him, arm stretched forward, and instinctively curls himself up tight as his heart leaps up into his throat. What he thought had been a pillow is actually Yangyang passed out against him, who squeaks when Ten squeezes him.

“Don’t squish Yangyang!” Yangyang cries sleepily, tiny fists pushing at Ten’s body.

“Sorry!” Ten lets go with the same speed as though he’s dropping a hot iron. Something clatters inside of his chest. “Sorry, sorry.” He sits up as Yangyang simply turns himself over on the inside of the couch and drops back into his nap, unbothered. Hesitant, Ten gazes up at Kun after rearranging himself to a more comfortable position, knees drawn up. Yangyang dozes between where Ten sits and Kun stands. “Sorry,” he says again, at a loss after being startled awake.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Kun says, shifting back on his feet.

“You didn’t.”

“Okay,” Kun says lightly. “Did you want to eat?”

Ten swallows. “Yes. Yeah.”

They eat Kun’s food in the kitchen, standing at the counter, forks chiming against plates, making light conversation of what they've been up to the past few days. For Kun, the day inside with Yangyang as the rain came down in torrents yesterday had felt like a test of his single-parent abilities. He'd suffered through two tantrums (marked by the following memorable moments: Yangyang yanking on Kun's hair, Yangyang going limp-noodle on him at lunch, and a naked Yangyang screeching as runs away from Kun with shampoo in his eyes), but the apartment is still intact and Yangyang still lovingly calls him Baba, so he's proud to say he thinks he's getting parts of it right, at least. Ten tells Kun a little bit about Sicheng, his upcoming wedding, and tries to gloss over the part of the night where he had a complete breakdown. "It's not a regular thing, I promise," Ten says, forcing lightness in his tone.

All Kun says is, "I'm glad Sicheng was able to come over."

The pan of Kun’s fried noodles sits steaming on the stovetop, filling the apartment with the fragrant, savory aromas of garlic and sesame oil. Ten takes care not to lean over too much in case the neckline of his shirt slips too far. Kun finishes his first plate and helps himself to a second.

“This is way better than a breakfast sandwich,” Ten says into his plate and sending a silent apology to Sicheng.

Kun grins around a mouthful of noodles. “You think so?” he asks. "Wait until you see what I can do when given time to marinate."

Ten chokes on a noodle, coughing as Kun's grin turns slinky and self-satisfied. "Why are you like this?" Ten asks between tiny coughs.

"I'm the darling only child from a good family, and I was raised on praise. How did you think I'd turn out?"

"I don't know. But I kind of love it." He puts his empty plate in the sink and holds his hand out for Kun's, rinsing both off in the basin. When he shuts the water off, the ensuing silence feels as thick as smoke. Ten wishes he'd thought to put on some music or something. The sound of him clearing his throat is jarring. He turns around and Kun is closer than before, barely an arm's length away, and it makes him jump in his skin.

"Sorry," Kun whispers.

Ten's heart feels like it's capsizing inside of him. "No, it's -- it's fine."

"It's not…" Kun shakes his head, starting to take a step back, but Ten reaches out to him first, capturing both of Kun's wrists in his hands. He doesn't pull him closer, not yet, but it's enough to keep Kun from running away, if that's what he'd intended on doing. On Kun's face is the smallest of frowns, and his eyes are dark with emotion. "Ten…"

"I need to tell you something," Ten says. "If we're gonna -- if this is gonna--" He breaks off, words caught in his throat. He's never made it this far with someone else before. He's never wanted this so badly.

"Work?" Kun finishes for him.

Ten nods. Kun waits.

Ten opens his mouth and no words come out. He closes it again, whining in frustration as seconds pass and his voice box remains uncooperative.

Kun turns their hands over, so that he's holding Ten's hands instead. "Take your time," he says gently, his words and touch as soft as feathers.

"I'm just telling myself I can do this," Ten says after seconds pass without a sound. He flushes at admitting such a thing aloud.

Kun says, "Okay, you can do this."

Ten takes a steadying breath. He raises himself up on his toes to peek over the counter to see that Yangyang hasn't rolled over and crashed onto the floor from the couch. He hasn't. Kun chuckles a little, squeezing Ten's hands when he notices.

"He's fine," Kun assures him. "You're fine."

"Yeah," Ten says, pushing past the anxiety forming a knot in his lungs. He remembers how his mother had reacted when he told her the truth. That tiny moment he could see in her eyes, hear in her tone, where she blamed him for ending up in the hospital bed. That had almost stung worse than anything his ex had ever done to him. "So, like," he starts haltingly. Kun's unwavering attention on him is both unnerving and flattering. He can't look him in the eyes. He looks at their joined hands instead. "I had a really lovely time with you at dinner the other night. I really didn't want the night to end, so I invited you up. I was so happy you wanted that, too."

Ten pauses, needing to gather his thoughts, and still Kun waits, patient as ever. Ten lifts his eyes to meet his.

"I really, _really_ liked kissing you," he says, cheeks heating. "But when it went further, I -- I got scared. I didn't think I would! I didn't mean to -- to lead you on or anything like that. If that's what you thought."

Kun shakes his head but doesn't interrupt, and Ten barrels on.

"You see, I was with someone for a really long time who...hurt me. A lot. I thought I loved him. I thought he loved me, too. That's actually...a big part of the reason why I'm going to therapy. He put me through a lot. It ended almost two years ago and I'm still -- I'm still trying to heal."

He searches Kun's expression for blame, for disappointment, for disgust. But there's only concern and worry and that ever-present spark of warmth. The knot of anxiety gives way to relief, and with it, the rest of Ten's shaky walls crumble down around him. "Sorry," Ten whimpers, cheeks wet, "I thought I was done crying with yesterday, but."

"It's okay. I've got you." Kun takes a tiny step forward. "Can I hold you?"

"Please," Ten gasps, suddenly spilling over with tears. Kun comes to him, warm and solid, accepting. His arms close around Ten slowly. Ten inhales vanilla and cinnamon, like Kun's clothes had been steeped in the spices. He rubs his nose in it, a mewl escaping his throat.

"Thank you for telling me," Kun's whispering. "Thank you, that was brave. Thank you for trusting me."

"Oh my God, Kun," Ten blubbers. Kun's words and gentle handling overwhelm him, making the tears come harder. For years, Ten has kept his heart like a jar on a shelf, taking it down every once in a while to inspect how it has aged, if anything has changed. But glass jars are unchanging. They only really serve to hold what you put inside of them, and so Ten has tried to start his own collection of the things that make him feel happy and warm and loved -- his friends, the cafe, his family so many miles away -- making sure to keep the lid tightly closed with every new addition, to keep himself and the jar safe. Kun makes him want to take the jar down and open the lid, fill it to the brim until it's overflowing, so when he shows off what's become of his heart people will see it all over his hands, sticky and lovely like sweet summer jam.

"You don't have to apologize for anything," Kun says, which is how Ten realizes he's been mumbling _sorry_ into Kun's shirt like a mantra.

He gathers himself into something resembling functioning, and says, "If you didn't want to see me again, I'd understand."

" _I wouldn't_ ," Kun says, his tone slightly aghast, holding Ten a little tighter. "Of course I still want to see you."

"Really?"

Kun pulls back and Ten almost cries out at the loss, but instead curls his fingers into Kun's shirt and chews on his lip. "Ten," Kun says, "I meant it when I said I liked you and wanted to talk about what happened. I mean it when I say that dinner with you was the best couple of hours I've had in a really long time. Yangyang _adores_ you, and I do, too. If you'll let me, I'd like to take you out again. And again, and again."

Ten looks over the counter at Yangyang, who is still asleep on the couch, his body like a tiny ball stuffed into the farthest corner. He looks at Kun, the earnest, open expression on his face, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Has he been holding them back for Ten? He reaches up with one hand to cup Kun's cheek, sighing when Kun responds by leaning into it. "It'll be hard," Ten says. "I'll need to ask for your patience. I have a lot of baggage."

"So do I," Kun says. "Plus, did I ever tell you I wanted to be a pilot when I was younger? I'll refrain from making a joke about being able to handle all the baggage."

Laughing feels good. It breaks up the wall of sadness still lingering inside of Ten into manageable pieces. "You're ridiculous," Ten says, utterly charmed. "Your dumb dad jokes."

"You like them."

"God help me, I do."

Kun smiles. His smile is like the warmth of the first sun of spring; his kiss, the everlasting, fiery and golden burst of summer.

.


	13. Chapter 13

"You what?" Taeyong asks from where he's spread his arms and torso over Ten's counter in the cafe. The bags under his eyes are stark and gray, and the pink tank he's wearing is wrinkled and stained like someone dipped a paintbrush into a vat of soy sauce and whipped it back and forth across the fabric. Though his hair is a little frizzled and wild, the bleach job drying it out, and though Ten suspects Taeyong has taken three 5-minute power naps on his counter in the space of an hour, his friend looks happy.

It's Thursday morning, and Taeyong's restaurant is closed for the weekend. After the unanticipated crowds he'd had over the weekend resulted in small problems with food service that Taeyong's perfectionist nature couldn't abide by, the amateur restaurateur decided to close his restaurant's doors to give himself the time and space to reflect and experiment and innovate, and to make the restaurant even better for its official opening in another two weeks.

And, apparently, to make a bed for himself on Ten’s counter before the cafe opens.

"I told Kun," Ten repeats, drying a mug in his hands with a rag.

Taeyong stands upright and winces when his spine audibly cracks. "Like, everything?"

"Not everything," Ten says slowly. "I didn't want to scare him off…"

"If he'd have run off after you told him that stuff then he's a dick, anyway."

"Yongie!" Ten flicks the rag at him, and Taeyong giggles, leaping out of its way.

"What?"

"Doyoung is rubbing off on you."

"In more ways than one," Taeyong quips, smirking. He sobers and props himself up onto his elbows on the counter. The position makes his butt jut out into the air, and Ten pats his rear affectionately when he passes by it in order to bring over the boxes of napkins that need folding and stuffing into dispensers.

Taeyong continues, not moving to help, "And? What did he say?"

It was more than just what Kun said; it was what he did, after. Stayed with Ten in the kitchen until he calmed, kissed his forehead when Ten shook against him. Just being there in the cramped space, existing with Kun in those long minutes after, made Ten’s heart feel a kind of peace he’d only ever associated with his best, most precious memories, like playing on the beach with Tern as a kid, like learning how to cook Pad Thai from his mom, like the quiet, intimate birthday party Taeyong and Sicheng threw for him in the first couple months he’d been back in New York.

And when Kun let go, the feeling remained. Yangyang woke up from his nap grumpy, his face bloated and hair sticking up all over, and had demanded they both sit on the couch with him so that he could watch an episode of Care Bears on Netflix from the comfort of Kun’s and Ten’s laps. They sat like that, all pressed together, through two episodes, with Ten sneaking glances at Kun when he thought he wasn’t looking, his heart feeling as delicate as a butterfly unfolding its wings for the first time. Kun put his arm around Ten’s shoulder. By the end of the second episode, Ten's head was resting against Kun's chest and collarbone.

Yangyang looked up at them and asked innocently, a bright smile on his face, “Baba, are we living with Ten Ge now?”

Kun laughed and choked on nothing, and then Ten laughed as Kun wheezed for breath while Yangyang looked on in wide-eyed confusion.

“Not quite yet,” Kun told his son. He swung his gaze to Ten, eyebrows dipped minutely in worry that he’d stepped over a line, but Ten had hardly noticed.

He was imagining it -- Kun and Yangyang as a regular part of his life, cooking breakfast together in the kitchen as Yangyang played with his toy cars in the living room, Kun's hands on Ten's hips as he moved past him to grab spices out of the cabinet so that they wouldn't collide into each other. He could see it so, so clearly. Something inside of him ached for it.

Taeyong makes a noise like static crackling between his teeth that jolts Ten out of his reverie. _"Chhhk, come in, Ten. Come in. How are conditions up there on Mars?"_

"Shut up," Ten bristles, embarrassed to be caught daydreaming, and Taeyong laughs.

"What did he say?" Taeyong asks again.

"He said that I didn't have to apologize for anything--" Ten notices how Taeyong's eyes light up, smile widening so much that the light glints off his teeth "--and that he still wants to, to see me. He said he--" Ten snaps his mouth shut, ears and cheeks going pink.

"What?" Taeyong presses.

"He said he adores me."

Taeyong shrieks in glee, flinging himself upright again, and Ten thanks the stars that he had moved on from mugs to napkins so that instead of a mug crashing to the floor and shattering all over his feet it's just a harmless napkin fluttering to the ground instead.

"Sorry," Taeyong apologizes, holding his arms out and approaching Ten without any sudden movements to envelop him in a hug. "Sorry, that's just -- wow. He said that? Ten, that's so great."

Ten shrugs within Taeyong's hold. "Is it?"

"It took like 4 months for Doyoung to even come near saying the L word with me."

"He just wants to make it count each time."

"You're so pure and sweet sometimes, it amazes me." Taeyong squeezes him extra tight before letting go. "Seriously. Kun sounds great. When are you seeing him next?"

"Sunday, maybe?"

"Look at you. Going on consistent dates. Bagging a Hot Dad."

Ten groans and rolls his eyes. "You really _have_ been talking to Doyoung. I admit Kun is hot and a dad and, by this reasoning, he's also a Hot Dad. But he's also Kun and he's more than just a Hot Dad. Okay?"

"That's right, baby. Defend your man."

"I've had just about enough of you. I'm kicking you out of this shop," Ten threatens.

"Wrong. You need me to take the last batch of cookies out."

Ten huffs, squaring up his shoulders. "I can turn an oven off all by myself, thanks very much."

"Dating Kun has changed you," Taeyong bemoans, sinking back down over the counter. His hair flops over his forehead and, back in the kitchen, a timer goes off.

.

“Not to alarm you,” Kun whispers dramatically, leaning over to peer at Ten’s painting of a carefully constructed, detailed and slightly stylized branch covered in pink and white cherry blossoms. Ten stills his brush and turns to face him, eyebrow quirked. They’re at a Paint ‘n Sip class, and the instructor at the front of the room is guiding the group of twenty inebriated -- and only growing more so -- adults through the cherry blossom painting for the afternoon. Kun’s cheeks are the same color as some of the cherry blossoms on Ten’s canvas, and they’re halfway through a shared bottle of white wine. “Not to alarm you,” Kun repeats with a twinkle in his eye, now that he’s got Ten’s attention, “but your painting is _way_ better than mine.”

“It’s only a little better,” Ten teases with a grin, feeling pleased with the compliment.

“Ten, you could sell that in a gallery!” Kun insists. He’s wearing an apron over his t-shirt and jeans, and there’s a dash of bright pink paint smeared across one cheek.

“No way,” Ten mumbles. It’s definitely not good enough for that. When he was younger, Ten used to fill out a sketchbook a week with drawings and illustrations and his scribbled thoughts, but after college, that stopped. Ten can pinpoint the exact moment he put down his last sketchbook and stopped drawing and didn’t pick it up again for years. It was like being in his last relationship had put up an insurmountable wall that he couldn’t climb over to access that creative part of himself. Over the years, he’s started to dismantle that wall, brick by brick.

“Yes way!” Kun wobbles on his stool as he waves his hands around in emphasis, impassioned, forgetting he’s still holding a paintbrush and accidentally splattering dirty paint water on Ten’s shirt sleeve. “Oh no.” Kun’s eyes grow huge, and he gasps dramatically when he notices. “Oh no, I’m so sorry.”

It’s only a bit of water, really, and Ten can’t help but chuckle at the way Kun bites into his bottom lip, expression just shy of mournful as he puts his brush back into the cup of water resting between their table-top easels. “It’s fine, Kun,” Ten assures him, putting his brush back into the water as well and examining the spot. It’s barely noticeable.

“I’ve ruined your shirt!” Kun wails. The girls across from them look up in curiosity, giggling to each other when they see how flushed Kun’s cheeks are, probably also noticing when Ten’s expression slips from mildly annoyed to fond.

“You haven't,” Ten assures him.

Kun shakes his head. “I have to buy you ten new shirts, now.”

“You know, you’re just a little bit ridiculous when you’re tipsy.”

“I had a looooooooong week,” Kun says, turning back to his painting. Up at the front, the instructor is telling them that they should sign their names in the bottom corners of their pieces of art. Ten watches Kun take the brush with the narrowest bristles up in hand and squint as he writes the character of his last name in fine strokes in the corner of his canvas in bright red paint. His tongue pokes out between his lips as he concentrates. The air rushes past Ten’s ears like he’s been swept up in a current.

“Did you, now?”

“I don’t know if you want to hear about it.”

“I do,” Ten says, reaching out to lay a hand over Kun’s wrist.

Kun pauses and lowers his arm with a sigh, fidgeting. “It’s just -- it’s Yangyang. He’s great!" he insists when Ten's eyebrows shoot up in concern. "He’s just -- I just. Don’t want to talk about it here.” He swings his gaze around the room, and Ten follows it, understanding what Kun means. “Maybe later?”

Ten nods. “In private?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Ten says, “Okay. I _do_ want to hear about it. Your day. Your everything. I want to know.”

“Okay,” Kun says, but he doesn’t look convinced, and Ten resolves to ask Kun about what’s worrying him no matter what, but not in front of all these strangers, however friendly they seem.

“Hey,” Ten says quietly, tugging on Kun’s wrist until he looks at him again. He leans forward and kisses Kun on the cheek, right under the streak of pink paint, and delights in the way Kun lets out a little squeak of surprise, in the way Kun brightens, after, like Ten’s turned on a light underneath the other man’s skin. “I like you even though you’re not very good at painting.”

“Well,” Kun says. “I like you even though you’re _really_ good at it.”

“You did try, though, which speaks volumes about your character.”

“I did,” Kun agrees, nodding solemnly.

“Except for that flower,” Ten says. He points at one of the blossoms on Kun’s tree. It’s very pale pink and globular in shape. Kun probably had too much paint on his brush when he tried to delicately dot the very tip of the brush across the canvas, and ended up with blobs instead. “It kind of looks like a very sad penis.”

Kun’s full-bellied laughter makes the air whoosh past Ten’s ears again, and Ten wonders if he’s actually hearing the rush of blood circulating in the chambers of his heart.

.

Kun decides that the best place to hang up his piece of art is on the back wall of his closet in his bedroom.

"It will be nice and cozy here," he informs Ten, after stuffing it behind a pile of clothes.

"But no one will see it!"

"That's the idea," Kun says cheerfully.

Kun's apartment, moderately-sized for the Village, is bare. It's not much larger than Ten and Taeyong’s, meaning that the kitchen really shouldn’t qualify as a separate room and the living room feels cramped with even the limited furniture in it, but the bathroom is decent and the bedrooms seem livable -- at least the one Ten has seen. He hasn't seen Yangyang's room yet.

“We inherited all the furniture from the old tenants,” Kun explains, “But the mattress is new!” He sweeps a hand over his bed and then flushes so furiously that Ten worries his head might just boil off. Kun ushers Ten out of his small bedroom and back out into the living room, shutting the door behind him.

Out in the living room, there are still boxes in the corner waiting to be unpacked, and the couch looks like it’s been in this apartment for decades, beat up and worn around the edges.

“And I’m planning on getting a new couch,” Kun continues. He pulls at the collar of his shirt and clears his throat while Ten roams around the space, taking stock of everything. There’s a small, round tray table in front of the couch, a media station holding just the television and a router for WiFi, and a mostly-empty bookcase shoved in the corner. Toy cars lay scattered over the bottom shelf of the bookcase, spilling over onto the floor. There’s an air conditioner that looks like it’s seen better days stuffed in the window next to the bookcase. Kun goes to flip it on, and the unit roars to life. “It’s just that -- I don’t know what kind of rug to get, or if I even need to get one. And I want the couch to match, I think, when I get one. So if I haven’t decided on the rug, then I can’t decide on the couch, right?”

“You could go with something neutral and make it easy on yourself,” Ten suggests. Then he points out, “It looks like you haven’t really unpacked anything, yet?”

Kun smiles in a way that feels forced and unnatural. “Do you want some tea? I’m going to make some tea. Xuxi will be by with Yangyang in an hour or so, and I need to be sober by then.”

Ten settles down onto the couch, his own painting propped against the side of it, dropping his line of questioning when he sees it makes Kun uncomfortable. “I’d love tea. Thanks.”

Kun nods and busies himself with making it in the kitchen, and Ten flips through an old paperback book he finds squashed in between the cushions of the couch. It's well-thumbed and yellowed with age, the illustration on the cover nearly entirely scratched off. Ten makes out Chinese characters, the half-image of a red lantern. In the margins of the pages are what he assumes to be Kun’s scribbled notes, the writing hurried and the hard angles of the characters turning rounded and smooth.

He imagines what it’s been like for Kun, months into moving to a new city halfway around the world, with a new job that hasn’t yet started, with a three-year-old boy who holds within him the curiosity of a scientist and the energy of a burning star. Unpacking stacks of books and decorating his apartment probably feel like negligible tasks on the list, relative to the other hurdles Kun’s likely had to face.

“Green or Oolong?” Kun calls from the kitchen.

“Green,” Ten chimes back.

“You don’t do anything weird like take milk or put sugar in it, do you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Good,” Kun says, emerging with two steaming mugs in either hand, the paper tag of a tea bag hanging over the lip of each one. “Because honestly? Deal breaker.” His eyes gleam as he hands Ten one of the mugs.

“Really?” Ten asks, grinning and wrinkling his nose. He takes the offered drink, inhales the aromatic steam coming off the top. He loves the way green tea smells, slightly earthy and floral and clean. “Out of everything, _that_ would have been the deal breaker?”

“Milk doesn’t agree with me,” Kun replies smoothly. He sits down next to Ten, who immediately tucks his legs up underneath himself to make space on the couch. Kun leans into him, then pauses, reconsidering.

Ten knows Kun is just being careful with him, aware of Ten’s space, and he appreciates his thoughtfulness in everything he does. But he wants Kun to touch him. So he scooches over just a little bit until their hips are brushing and says, looking up at Kun from under his eyelashes, "Is this okay?"

Kun's eyelids flutter as he settles into the couch with looser limbs. "Yeah, of course, Ten."

"What about this?" Slowly, he drops his head to lean onto Kun’s shoulder, needing to shift lower on the couch to find a comfortable position. Once he’s settled, Kun moves, and Ten whines as he’s dislodged, but Kun is only moving to place his mug on the tray table. He returns with his arm outstretched to curl around Ten’s shoulders.

"Yeah," he says quietly. His body is turned toward Ten’s slightly, curved like a cradle to hold Ten against him.

Ten draws his knees up and takes a sip of tea from his mug. "Kun?” The other makes a small noise of acknowledgement. Ten takes a breath. “Please don’t be scared of touching me."

Kun’s arm tenses behind him, and his neck and face go rigid. To the count of five, Ten watches Kun relax the muscles of his face, feels his arm go loose around his shoulders again. "I'm not, sweetheart. I just don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

Ten nods. He peers up at Kun from his place on Kun’s shoulder, his nose bumping against Kun’s sharp-edged jaw. “Just, just go slow,” he says. “Just ask, if you’re not sure.”

“Okay.” Kun smiles with such warmth that Ten can feel it bloom deep in his core. “So can I kiss you...here?” Kun brushes the pad of his longest finger over Ten’s forehead.

Ten’s breath hitches at how that simple touch makes electricity snake down his spine. “Yeah.”

Kun’s lips against his forehead feel like satin, so soft and smooth that Ten can barely feel the kiss whisper across his skin. “What about here?” Kun murmurs, thumb stroking across Ten’s cheek.

“Uh huh,” Ten nods, closing his eyes to savor the gentle way Kun’s hands form around his face, turning him slightly so that Kun can place a sweet kiss on either of Ten’s cheeks. “Now, here,” Ten demands, pursing his lips.

He hears Kun chuckle, and then they’re kissing, unhurried, lazily. Ten sighs against Kun’s lips and Kun holds him closer with his arm around Ten’s back, tucking his body tighter against his own.

“I need to put my tea down,” Ten mumbles.

“Oh, right.” Kun blinks when he pulls back with pink cheeks, his eyes bright and a little glazed over, like gems and pebbles glistening under water. Ten leans over to put his mug down, next to Kun’s.

Kun asks, “Do you want to lie down?”

“Uh...” Ten's ears go hot.

“I mean, I want to hold you. Is that okay? Plus, I feel a wine nap coming on…”

“A wine nap?” Ten laughs and Kun wraps his arms around him, nuzzling his face into Ten’s shoulder. “What are you, 50?” But even as Ten teases him, he leans back on the couch, bringing Kun down with him. They knock elbows and knees as they re-position themselves side by side of the couch, facing each other and sharing the same throw pillow under their heads. Kun floats his arm over Ten’s waist, and Ten kisses him again, loving the feel of Kun’s mouth against his own.

“I’m not even that much older than you are,” Kun says with a pout.

“ _Shhh_.” Ten kisses that pout, smiling against Kun’s lips. He feels Kun’s fingers drumming lightly over the small of his back, like Ten’s spine is a keyboard for Kun to play. “This is nice.”

“It is,” Kun agrees. “You’re so lovely.”

In the corner of the living room, the air conditioner hums, a white noise that Ten easily drifts to. Kun's fingers continue to play up and down Ten's spine, and Ten allows himself to trace his fingers slowly down Kun's sternum, pausing at the place where Kun's rib cage meets at one point. Ten marvels at how calm he feels like this, just laying here with Kun, on an old couch that smells faintly of dust, their mugs of tea growing cold. He flicks his gaze upward and catches Kun with his eyelids drooping, his breath evening out. He grins, biting into his bottom lip. “Hey, don't fall asleep yet, old man. Are you gonna tell me what’s been on your mind, now?”

"What?" Kun huffs, wriggling on the couch to keep himself awake. He blinks his eyes open.

"What you mentioned earlier, when we were painting. What's going on?"

"Oh, that," Kun says. His voice dips low when he continues, "I'm just trying to get Yangyang into a good daycare, but I'm not having any luck."

"What do you mean?"

"Well--" Kun starts, pulling Ten closer still with his arm now hooked around his waist at the elbow. "Maybe I'm being too picky? Or I'm too late... Everywhere just seems inadequate, or full. I didn't start looking early enough. I didn't know I _needed_ to. I thought the university would be more helpful, but so many staff are still on summer break and I haven't really -- I mean -- I haven't really connected with anyone in the department yet that I'd feel comfortable asking for more help. There's no university daycare, so we have to go out and find a good place on our own, though NYU subsidizes the cost, but I have to _find_ a good daycare that will take Yangyang in the first place, you know? And so many of the places I've looked into are just. Full."

Kun takes a deep breath and lets it out with a noisy sigh.

"Sorry, that was a lot."

"It _is_ a lot," Ten says.

"I'm just worried I've already messed things up for Yangyang, and we've just moved here."

Ten frowns at how defeated Kun sounds, at the doubt darkening his eyes. His heart feels heavy and full, like he's been out in the rain and his clothes are soaked, water-logged. "Hey, look at me." Kun does, and Ten reaches up to rub his palm over Kun's cheek. "You haven't messed anything up. You're worried about getting your son into a good daycare, so you're being very deliberate about it. That's a _good_ thing. You're a good father. So it's taking longer than you thought, and it's harder than you thought it'd be -- that's okay. I'm sure you'll find something great."

"I hope so..." His breathing slows as Ten continues to pet his cheek, and he whines lowly in the very back of his throat when Ten kisses him.

"Can I help you with this?" Ten asks.

"Can you? Please."

"Sicheng's fiance Yuta," Ten explains, "his mom runs a daycare in Midtown. It's really small and, honestly, I think it's a lot of Japanese families in the area who seek her out, but I can talk to him and see..."

"Do you know their education philosophy?"

Ten kisses him again. "No." He laughs a little breathlessly, shifting to wrap his arms around Kun's middle and to tuck his face into the space under Kun's chin.

"Right. Right, sorry."

"It's okay. But I'll talk to Sicheng, and to Yuta, and maybe he'll get in touch with you? And you can take it from there."

"Did I ever tell you that you're amazing?" Kun asks, holding him tighter around his waist.

"Maybe you did," Ten says. "But you shouldn't be shy about saying it more."

"You're amazing," Kun says, unabashedly and full of sincerity. "Thank you."

"You're amazing, too," Ten says.

They fall into a comfortable silence. The air conditioner hums in the background, and soon enough, Kun's body relaxes into the couch. His skin smells like the tea has been rubbed into it, and Ten buries his nose into Kun's neck, feeling the shadow of Kun's pulse on his lips. He swallows around the heartbeat in his mouth.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for all the comments in the last chapter <3


	14. Chapter 14

* * *

“Baba! Baba! Baba!” Yangyang's voice rings out like an alarm, and his cheerful chirping is punctuated by knuckles rapping sharply on the door. Ten groans at the disturbance, burrowing his face deeper into the soft fabric in front of him. It smells like cinnamon and blueberries. Arms tighten around his waist, and Ten is warm, so warm that he can feel a line of sweat forming down his spine, making the back of his shirt stick to his skin.

"Ten," Kun whispers. Fingers brush through the shorter hairs at the base of Ten's skull. "Sorry, sweetheart. Yangyang and Xuxi are here. I have to answer the door."

"You smell like pancakes," Ten mumbles into Kun's neck. "Don't go."

"Promise I'll be right back," Kun says. He laughs as he touches his lips to Ten's forehead and Ten's eyelids flutter open.

The living room is filled with golden light, its hazy warmth made buoyant by the dust motes floating on sun beams through the air. Ten stretches his arms above his head with a low groan as Kun sits up and crawls over him to leave the sinkhole of a couch. The cushions bounce and the springs squeak as though to protest his movement, and Ten drags himself up to prop himself against the armrest.

"Coming," Kun calls out to the knocking at the door. His voice rings like a note in a song. Ten rubs at his eyes and runs fingers through his hair and tries to convince himself he is fully awake.

It's been a while since he's slept like that. He can't remember the last time he simply fell off into sleep, like shutting off a light. They can't have been napping on the couch for more than thirty minutes, but it feels like Ten's slept for three hours. He yawns, openly and without restraint, just as the front door swings wide open and Yangyang and Xuxi tumble inside.

"Ten Ge is here!" Yangyang shrieks in an octave that makes Ten's hairs on his forearms stand on end. The child dashes around his father's legs and beelines to the couch. ("Yangyang -- wait!" Kun tries, but it's no use.) Ten has just enough foresight to brace himself, holding his arms out, before Yangyang leaps and crash-lands right on Ten's belly.

"Ah!" Yangyang's knees dig into the softest part of Ten's stomach. It hurts a bit, but Yangyang's huge, unfiltered smile softens the brunt of the impact. "Little Monster," Ten growls affectionately into Yangyang's hair. 

Yangyang throws his arms around Ten's neck, giggling maniacally when Ten starts to wrestle with his little limbs to get them into a more comfortable position so that Yangyang ends up sitting on Ten's lap.

"Gege! Uncle Xuxi took Yangyang to the park! We played battle robots!" 

At the door, Xuxi is still taking off his shoes. He catches Ten's eyes and flashes a smile, waving a hand in greeting. "You're here!" he says simply. Even in just jeans and a plain white tee, Xuxi looks like he just stepped off the runway. Ten hugs Yangyang a little closer, feeling a little self-conscious about his long sleeves.

"We fell asleep," Kun explains, blushing as he walks over to the couch with Xuxi in tow. "Thanks for watching Yangyang."

"Literally any time, Kun," Xuxi says. 

"Sit," Kun orders, and Xuxi sits on the opposite end of the couch, leaving some space in the middle between himself and Ten. "You want tea? Ours went cold. Ten, you want more tea?"

"We can just reheat mine--"

"Nonsense. Fresh batch for all!" Kun decides. "Sit. Talk. I'll be right back."

"--and there was a puppy!" Yangyang is still chattering on in Ten's lap. "Yangyang pet the puppy! It was so cute. Uncle Xuxi likes doggies but sometimes he's afraid of them. Ten Ge, do you like puppies?" Yangyang looks up at Ten, clearly expecting an answer, and puts his hands on his hips and scowls when an answer is not immediately forthcoming. "Gege!"

"Hm?"

"Does Gege like puppies?" Yangyang repeats, but this time in Mandarin. Ten has no clue why the kid thinks that will make it easier for Ten to understand, but he tries his best.

"Oh yeah," Ten responds with enthusiasm. "My family has so many dogs back home."

"You speak Mandarin?" Xuxi asks, arm draped over the back of the couch casually.

"Very poorly," Ten says, daring to look Xuxi in the eyes for a moment before focusing his attention back on the squirming toddler in his arms. "Yangyang -- yes, yeah, you want to see pictures of them?"

Yangyang nods and bounces in Ten's lap, overflowing with excitement. "Yeah!"

"Hm," is all Xuxi says. The contemplative expression on his face sharpens the lines of his jaw. Then when he smiles again, his face goes round and cherubic. The change is almost jarring. "I'm sorry. We got ice cream before coming home, so it's my fault he's got so much energy."

Ten chuckles. "Oh, that's kind of evil." He brings his phone out and loads up his sister's Instagram page, where she posts pictures of their family's dogs almost daily. Yangyang attention shifts to the screen like a laser, and he quiets as Ten slowly scrolls through the images.

Xuxi shrugs. "He'll tucker out after a couple hours," he predicts.

"Tea’s ready!" Kun announces. He brings out two more steaming mugs, handing one off to Xuxi and putting Ten's on the tray table. Ten notices the other mugs have already been cleared. Then Kun retreats back to the kitchen and returns with another mug, his own. "Now," Kun says with shining eyes and cheeks. "Will you both stay for dinner?"

.

As Kun and Xuxi chop vegetables and prepare the rice in the kitchen, Yangyang brings Ten into his room. ("Kun likes you more, obviously," Xuxi sniffs. "He's putting me to work and you get to play!").

Yangyang's room is about half the size of his father's, but what Ten immediately notices is how full of life it is compared to the rest of the apartment. All of the energy Kun had for unpacking and decorating and designing, it seems, was devoted to Yangyang's room. The walls are pale green and the ceiling has been painted light blue. Brightly colored foam puzzle pieces cover half of the floor and disappear under Yangyang's bed, which is shaped like a red race car.

A low bookshelf and trunk line one wall, and a short dresser stands against the wall opposite. Ten walks over to the dresser, bending over to peer at the photos in the two different picture frames balanced on top of it. One photo is of Kun and Yangyang -- a recent picture from the looks of it -- taken at a beach with the ocean as the backdrop. The other photo is older. Yangyang can't be more than a couple of months in the picture, about the size of a loaf of bread and bundled up in blankets, nestled in the safe cradle of a woman's arms. She's pretty and petite, her small face round and brimming with hope and love. Kun stands next to her, his arms around her waist.

The woman must be Vivian. 

Yangyang pauses in front of the photo when he notices Ten staring, and points at it. "That's Mama," he explains, looking up at Ten with the same hope and love in his own eyes as in his mother's in the photo. 

"She's really pretty," Ten says quietly.

"Baba says she's in -- she's in," his face scrunches up as he tries to remember the word. "The sky?"

"Heaven?" Ten supplies, and Yangyang nods.

"It's nice up there," he says. Abruptly, Yangyang turns away from the photo and walks across the room to the trunk, where he throws open the top and dives headfirst into it, rummaging for toys. Ten gives the photo one last lingering look before taking in the rest of the room.

In one corner is a grey armchair with a fuzzy green blanket thrown over the back. Ten pictures Kun sitting there with a book in hand, Yangyang in his lap. Then his eyes stray to the guitar precariously balanced on its wooden body on the floor against the armchair. The front of the instrument is covered in stickers. Ten is drawn to it, approaching slowly. He picks it up by the neck.

"Gege, be careful! Baba says be careful with that." Yangyang patters over with four toy cars bundled into his arms, expression full of naked concern.

"I will be so careful, baby," Ten says. “Don’t worry.” He sits down on the floor, crossing his legs and bringing the guitar into his lap. His hands fall into place naturally. Experimentally, his fingers find the frets to press down upon, and he strums a chord. The guitar sings, the notes resonating, and Ten is reminded of Kun’s voice.

But it goes quiet in the kitchen. Ten notices, freezes up, and moves the guitar off his lap. He sees one of the rainbow stickers from the cafe stuck on the body, bright and new against others that have been worn down with fingers and age. He props the guitar back up against the armchair, where he found it.

"Can you play Yangyang a song?" Yangyang asks, plopping down next to Ten. The cars scatter from his arms and bounce across the soft foam floor, but Yangyang pays them no mind.

Ten boops Yangyang on the nose and the kid's face wrinkles in laughter. "Maybe some other time."

"Okay -- Want to play with Yangyang's cars?" 

It's a minute or so later, after Yangyang has declared Ten the new official driver of his third-favorite purple race car, that Ten realizes Kun is at the door frame. He's leaning against the jamb, arms crossed loosely, a dopey grin on his face.

"Hey," Ten says, when he sees him.

"Hey," Kun says softly back. "Were you playing the guitar earlier?"

"Just messing around," Ten says. "Sorry."

"It's fine. I didn't know you played."

Ten shrugs. "You write, right?"

Kun swings his body against the jamb like he's the door on the hinge, embarrassed. "Yeah. Sometimes."

"We do Open Mic nights at the cafe once a month," Ten says as Yangyang uses his legs like they're racetracks, running his red car up and down Ten's shins. "You should...play sometime. Or just come. They're fun."

"That sounds great. I'd like that."

They watch each other for a moment. It should feel strange, just looking at each other like that, not speaking, barely breathing, but it doesn't feel strange at all. Maybe because it feels like they're communicating in another way. One day, hopefully soon, Ten will find the words to describe how Kun makes him feel, and he'll say them out loud for all the world to hear, but right now, this moment between the two of them is enough. 

"Smells like fire," Yangyang says amiably at Ten's side.

"What?"

"Smells like fire!" Yangyang repeats, throwing his hands up into the air and cackling. Ten's eyes widen as he sniffs and smells smoke. 

Kun curses under his breath. The shrill beeping of the smoke detector going off pierces their eardrums, and in the kitchen, Ten hears Xuxi shout, "Sorry! Don't worry! I've got this!"

.

After putting out the small flames, opening the windows, and collectively fanning out all the smoke that had quickly filled the apartment, they eat dinner in front of the television, Kun and Ten and Xuxi on the couch with their plates in their laps and Yangyang on the floor with a little bowl of rice in his hands. He pays the adults no mind as he watches We Bare Bears and tries very hard not to miss his mouth with the spoon. Occasionally, Kun will lean over and drop another piece of steamed fish into Yangyang's bowl, or hover a bite of stir-fried bok choy in his chopsticks for Yangyang to chomp on.

"I've gotta get a coffee table, too," Kun sighs. "Or else I can't ever have more than two people over for dinner."

The food is amazing, simple, and filling. When Ten compliments Kun on his dishes, Kun goes pink and giggly, and Xuxi laughs. 

"He cooked for us a lot at university," Xuxi explains, his plate already clean. "But back then, it was instant ramen all day, every day."

Kun wrinkles his nose and plops another bite of fish from his own plate into Yangyang's bowl. His son turns to him with a pout and a whine. "Baba, no more..."

"Last bite, baobao," he encourages softly. Yangyang's attention goes back to the cartoon on the TV, and he shovels the last bite of fish into his mouth as though to get it over with as quickly as possible. Kun nods to himself after ensuring that Yangyang has finished his fish and continues, "I've sworn off those salt bombs now. Why make instant when you can make it from scratch?"

"Uh, convenience?" Xuxi offers.

"Nostalgia?" Ten supplies.

Kun shakes his head. "It's so bad for you. If you want ramen, I'll make it for you. You'll never go back to Shin, I promise."

"Doubtful," Ten teases, and when Kun lifts his eyebrow at him in challenge, his heart flops over in his chest in surrender. "I mean...does this mean you're offering to cook for me again?"

"Obviously." 

Ten swallows. Kun said that so easily, and it makes his guardrails go up reflexively. He pushes them back down, but his tiny moment of hesitation and uncertainty doesn't go unnoticed.

Kun clears his throat and says quietly, "If you want me to, that is."

"I do," Ten says quickly, sorry for his hesitation. Sorry for his guardrails. He rests his plate on his lap and breathes out slowly. "I'd like that a lot. I like this. A lot." He looks across Kun over to Xuxi and back again. "Xuxi is a little extra, but he can join every once in a while, too."

"Hey!" 

Kun laughs as Xuxi's eyes bug out, but the wide smile on the model's lips give away just how much he loves the teasing. 

"Deal," Kun says.

"I don't get a say in this?" Xuxi whines.

"Do you want free food, or no?" Kun asks pointedly.

A light bulb goes off over Xuxi's head. "Okay! You're right, you're the boss, man."

The phrase, or the way Xuxi says it, draws up a memory between the two of them, and they reminisce about their time at university and the years after. Ten sits on the outskirts of their conversation, but he doesn't feel like a stranger; rather, he observes because he's been welcomed into this glimpse of Kun's life, and the more he is allowed to take in, the more he wants to know. 

By the time Ten finishes his last bite of food, Yangyang's head is lolling back against the cushions with the effort to stay awake, and Xuxi and Ten offer to clean up so that Kun can get Yangyang ready for bedtime.

They bring the plates and dishes to the sink and let the water run over the pile of dirty glassware. After a quick game of rock-paper-scissors, it’s decided that Ten will be washing and Xuxi will be drying, Xuxi celebrating what he considers his victory with a couple of quiet but enthusiastic fist pumps. Ten rolls his eyes at the behavior and dodges out of the way when Xuxi tries to fling soap at him in retaliation. 

Standing side by side at the kitchen sink together, they establish a routine: Ten hands the cleaned dishes and cups and silverware off to the taller man for drying, and meanwhile, he listens for the sounds of Kun coaxing Yangyang to brush his teeth in the bathroom. The dishes clink as Xuxi stacks them in their proper places in the cabinets after being dried, the sound like a steady metronome marking the passage of minutes in quiet. It’s comforting -- the quiet, the routine, Yangyang’s pealing laughter from the bathroom. As Ten hands off the last plate, Xuxi sighs and turns to him, not taking the glassware from his hands yet.

"He's my best friend," Xuxi says.

Ten raises his eyebrows. "Yeah? I know," he says gently, because it seems like Xuxi is working himself up to saying something else.

Xuxi sighs again, taking the plate and putting it away on a shelf in the cabinet before closing the cabinet door. The air grows thick between them, and he says in a voice filled with gravel and emotion, "He's my best friend, so I have to say this. Be careful with him. Okay?"

"Xuxi--"

"He doesn't show it very often, but he's really sensitive. He cares a lot. He takes on too much." Xuxi pauses, his eyes dark and full, and swallows thickly. "He needs taking care of, too," he adds, quiet and hushed.

"I know." Ten smiles when Xuxi looks to him sharply, a tiny gasp falling from his lips. "Xuxi, I feel so lucky to have met him. He's so -- he's so loving. He makes me feel like...like there's nothing wrong with me." Xuxi's lips pinch into a confused frown, but Ten continues on, heart beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings in his chest. "I want to be for him what he's been for me. Does that make sense? I want to be there for him, and take care of him if I can, and Yangyang, too."

Xuxi says nothing for so long that Ten worries perhaps he's said the wrong thing. Ten's throat tightens as he watches Xuxi for a reaction. Maybe he's angered him. Maybe Xuxi told him those things because he wants Ten to know that Ten isn't good enough for Kun. Maybe he's right. 

Then, Xuxi lets out a long-suffering groan. "You're both _so_ dramatic," he says. "You totally belong together. God, that was like a line out of a movie."

Ten feels his mouth fall open in shock. "What?"

"You heard me. You have my blessing, or whatever. Not like you actually need it because you’re both adults, but. You’re cool." Xuxi beams a smile at Ten that stuns him, and then he dries off his hands on the rag and drums his belly with his fingertips, humming a little jingle. "I think I'm ready for dessert now, whew!"

“Oh,” Ten says as Xuxi lopes away, back to the living room, mumbling something about cheesecake and wine with Yerim. A smile slowly rises to his lips as he processes what Xuxi said.

But when his gaze falls to his hands hovering over the empty sink, Ten's breath catches. He'd had to push up his sleeves so his shirt wouldn't get wet as he washed the dishes. He hadn't even thought about it. The scar on the inside of his forearm gleams under the light in the kitchen. For a moment too long, Ten admires the mottled, shiny surface of the ruined skin.

Then he pushes his sleeves back down, wondering if Xuxi saw. 

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buckle up from here


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please pay attention to the tags for this chapter!

Dejun sits across from Ten at a corner table in the cafe and pulls a crumpled sheet of paper out from inside of his backpack, flattening it out on the tabletop and grinning up at Ten proudly. "We already have, like, 20 people signed up."

"That's a lot," Ten says, raising both eyebrows, impressed and appreciative. 

"Yeah, everyone is excited that it's BYOB this time -- I mean, we'll make sure anyone who's drinking is over 21! But that helped with the quick sign-ups. And of course everyone loves the cafe so they're excited to support."

"I should have let you plan all the Open Mics," Ten says.

"I love this stuff," Dejun says excitedly, eyes bright and gleaming. "Bringing people together. Art and music. All that stuff."

"Is Mark helping at all or is this like a group project where you're doing all the work?" Ten asks skeptically.

Dejun's smile turns sheepish as he hunches his shoulders. "I kind of took over… I don't mind, though! I really don't."

Ten grins at the other boy's endearing energy. It's almost impossible not to be happy around Dejun. His optimism and enthusiasm are contagious. It helps with the decision that's been weighing on his mind over the past couple of weeks. 

"Listen, Dejun," Ten says, looking over the list of sign ups that Dejun has pushed over to him. There's a variety of people who will be playing songs, people reciting poetry, people reading short stories aloud. "I'm gonna pay you for this. And then after the Open Mic is over, I'd love if you wanted to start at the cafe part time. When the school year starts up again we'll be really busy, and Mark and I could use the help."

Dejun is quiet, but the energy pulsing from him is loud and electric. Ten looks up to find him shooting sparks from his eyes, his smile so big his face can barely contain it. "You mean it?"

"Of course I do." 

"I'm gonna be the best coffee boy in the whole world," Dejun announces.

Ten laughs. "It's barista, actually. But coffee boy has a nice ring to it."

.

_There are too many eyes at the party, so nothing happens in the moment, but Ten can tell by the way his fingers tighten around Ten's wrist that he's angry with him. Can tell by the way his smile goes tight and his laugh sounds robotic that Ten done's something wrong. Again._

_Ten tries to think about what it could be that has upset him. He ironed the shirt he's wearing. He wore the cuff links his boyfriend likes. He's only had the one cocktail, and he let his boyfriend order it for him. But something is wrong. Ten's breath quickens the longer his mind turns over the events of the evening so far, until it feels like he's trying to breathe through a pinhole. Maybe he smiled at the bartender for a moment too long. Maybe he didn't like the way Ten touched his coworker's shoulder when he laughed at a joke he told. It could be anything. It could be nothing. The fingers around his wrist squeeze to the point of bruising. Ten winces and the hand drops, and he dares not look at him._

_"We're going, now," his boyfriend says. "So sorry to leave early. We've got that thing in the morning. Right, Ten?"_

_There's nothing in the morning, but Ten nods anyway. "Right." His smile feels frozen on his face._

_He takes his wrist again and Ten goes with him because there's nothing else for him to do. The short cab ride home is silent and excruciating._

_The first thing he does when they enter their apartment is throw Ten against the wall._

_Ten chokes out a cry. "Shit, Kun, that hurts."_

_"Does it?" Kun presses up close. His breath reeks of alcohol. His body cages Ten against the door to their bedroom. He's bigger than he is in real life. Taller and broader and more muscled. "You slut. I saw you making eyes at the waiter."_

_Ah, the waiter, Ten thinks. Of course._

_Kun slams his fist into the wall right by Ten's head, and Ten's whole body quakes and goes numb._

_"Sorry," Ten mumbles, bracing himself. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."_

_"You're sorry?" Kun grabs him hard by the chin, and all of this wrong. It's wrong. It's wrong, wrong, wrong--_

Ten wakes himself up screaming, his throat raw, his chest heaving. He's covered in sweat. He kicks off the blankets that feel like bindings and sits up against his headboard with his arms hugging his knees tightly. His door slams open and Ten screams again, but it's just Taeyong, who turns on the light and comes to Ten with his arms wide and his eyes half-closed.

"Nightmare, Tennie," Taeyong whispers, draping himself over Ten's body and holding him. "This is, like, the third one this week."

He can't breathe, let alone speak. He clutches at Taeyong's arms and buries his face in Taeyong's neck, groaning so awfully that it ends in a sob. 

"It's okay," Taeyong's saying. "It's okay. You're okay. You're okay."

"I'm sorry I woke you up," Ten mumbles, but it doesn't really feel like his mouth is forming the words.

"What was it about?" Taeyong asks, but Ten starts to shake when he thinks back on the nightmare. He whimpers pathetically in response, so Taeyong cards his fingers through Ten's hair and tells him it's okay, he doesn't have to say anything. He tries to coax Ten back to sleep instead.

Eventually, just like the night before, Ten pretends to drift off so that Taeyong can go back to his own bed to catch up on much-needed rest, and when the door closes and Ten is alone again, he rolls over onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, counting the minutes before dawn.

.

The surface of his skin feels like white noise, like he is being softly brushed all over by sandpaper. He feels like he's inside of his apartment, cozied up in his bed with the blankets around his shoulders, and it's raining outside. Raining so hard that he can't see out the window. Raining so hard that he can't hear past the constant drumming in his ears. Shouts from the street are muffled and fade into nothing. The world can’t reach him through this wall of water.

"Ten?" 

A voice from far away. Ten blinks and he's not in his bed at all, but seated on a crunchy blanket in a field with his elbows on his knees. It's not raining, either; the sky above is clear and blue and the air is thick with humidity. He looks up at the sky and is blinded by the light.

There are people around. Lots of people. The ringing in his ears grows louder.

"Ten? Sweetheart."

He swings his gaze toward the voice and breathes out slowly as his eyes adjust to let in the sun again, as the face he's looking at comes into focus. It's all shadows ringed by golden light. He licks his dry lips and the ringing in his ears abruptly stops. The silence that crashes into him knocks the air out of his lungs. 

Then, chatter. Noise filters in. He looks around some more and remembers that he's in Prospect Park. Kun has spread out his sensible picnic blanket, fuzzy on one side and plastic on the other, over a spot in the grass field in front of the half-dome structure where the band is setting up. Ten brought snacks -- salted caramel popcorn and chocolate chip cookies -- as dessert to compliment Kun’s handmade chicken salad sandwiches, and the evidence of their meal lies in the stack of dirty paper plates inhabiting one corner of the blanket. They're waiting for Kun's friends to join them for the free summer concert that will start when the sun goes down. Yangyang lays on his stomach in front of them both, happily using the drawing app on Ten's iPad. 

"Ten," Kun says again, this time in a firm but warm voice. He's lying back on his elbows, his legs straight out in front of him. He takes off his sunglasses.

Ten swallows the lump in his throat and ducks his eyes. "Yeah?"

"Are you okay? You seem really tired."

"I'm fine," Ten says quietly. "I've been having a hard time sleeping lately, that's all."

"We don't have to stay here. We can go back to mine or yours instead," Kun offers.

"No, I want to stay here." Ten looks at Kun finally, and sees the worry in his expression, the concern filling his eyes. Guilt takes root in his chest. Things have been going so well with Kun, but of course he has to ruin it. "I'm sorry. I'll be more fun."

Kun frowns and pushes himself upright, and in doing so, fits his body alongside Ten's. His arm forms a brace against Ten's back as Ten's shoulder presses into his chest. "You're plenty fun," Kun whispers into his hair. He places a quick, dry kiss against Ten's temple, then brushes the hair back from the spot he kissed with his fingers. Ten allows his eyelids to flutter closed as the soft petting sends shivers racing along his skin. "Are you sure it's just sleep? You can talk to me."

"I know," Ten says, but it's hard to know where to start, what to say. 

Much easier to let Kun touch him like this, kiss him and whisper sweet words, and to drift into the nothing-space he escapes to when things get to be too much. He knows he can't stay there forever. He knows he can't bring Kun there with him.

“You want to nap a little bit before Xuxi and Yerim get here?”

“No,” Ten says too quickly.

Kun rests his chin in the divot of Ten’s shoulder and hums contemplatively. “Should we kiss for a bit then?”

Ten turns to face him and their noses bump against each other. He gasps against Kun’s mouth. His kisses taste like caramel.

.

Ten sits on the couch, absently dipping the tea bag in the steaming mug on the coffee table in front of him. It's half past three in the morning. At least he hadn't woken up screaming, so Taeyong didn't blunder out of his room to check on him. Quiet cooking videos and cute animal videos autoplay from YouTube on the television, but the images can't push the nightmare from Ten's mind.

All of his scars feel like they're throbbing. He'd gone into the bathroom when he woke up to check that there weren't fresh bruises on his skin and found himself strangely disappointed when there weren't.

What's wrong with him?

He's going in circles, trapped in a whirlpool of his own making. He wants someone to pull him out, or maybe someone to hold him under. He wants to sleep. He wants to stop being afraid of going to sleep.

Taeyong's door creaks open and Ten sits up straighter on the couch, pushing the tea away from himself and hugging one of their throw pillows closer to his chest instead. His roommate steps out with a huge yawn and with his arms stretched high up over his head. He pauses with his arms raised in the air when he notices Ten in the living room.

"You're up?" Taeyong asks.

"Couldn't sleep," Ten says. "Did I wake you? I was trying to be so quiet."

"No, no." Taeyong shuffles forward and comes around to the front of the couch, plops himself next to Ten with another yawn. "Have to pee," he says eloquently.

Ten huffs in quick, quiet laughter. "Go, then."

"Did you have another nightmare?" Taeyong asks. "Have you talked to anyone about them? Kun? Taeil?"

Ten hugs the throw pillows so hard he feels his own wrists dig into his sides. The thought of talking to Kun about this makes him want to throw up. "No. No -- maybe Taeil. Not yet, though."

"You still have those sleeping pills from before, right?" Taeyong flops over the arm of the couch.

"You know I hated taking them," Ten whispers. "They make me feel like a zombie."

Taeyong reaches over and finds Ten's knee with his hand blindly, patting it a couple of times. Ten smiles despite himself. He is so, so fond of Taeyong. "Yeah, I remember."

"Don't you have to use the bathroom?" Ten reminds him, because it looks like Taeyong is settling into the couch and about to drop back into sleep.

Taeyong starts with a tiny snort. "Right." With a grunt, he pushes himself off the couch and ambles off to the bathroom, knocking into the door jamb with his shoulder on the way, and Ten thinks about the little orange bottles sitting and gathering dust on the top shelf of the cabinet behind the mirror in the bathroom. 

.

_Ten winces when the door creaks as he slowly nudges it open. The lights had not been on in the living room, so with any luck, his boyfriend will be upstairs in bed, asleep. These are the last text messages they exchanged:_

_Him: Where are you? Coming back soon?_

_Ten: Out with Tern and some friends. It's Lisa's birthday! Sorry, I thought I told you_

_That was hours ago, and as the night wore on and the drinks kept coming, Ten shelved thoughts about his boyfriend and how he probably expected him home soon. He wanted to stay out. Lisa was glowing and the dance floor was sticky with spilled drinks and Ten's body felt loose and powerful. He danced knowing people were looking at him. He loved that._

_He should have just stayed at Lisa's for the night, but a sense of obligation brought him back to his own doors. As he neared his boyfriend's place, that obligation spoiled like old milk into apprehension._

_Would he be upset Ten blew him off for Lisa? Probably._

_Would his boyfriend do something about it?_

_Better to hope that he's asleep. Maybe Ten can wash the sweat from his body and sneak into bed with him, curl his arms around his middle, and when they wake up tomorrow he can pretend he came home much earlier than 3 in the morning._

_The stairs groan as he takes his first soft steps up to the second floor of the apartment, and almost immediately after, the light clicks on, burning bright. He freezes as a shadow falls across the staircase. His boyfriend stands at the top in his silk pajamas, a huge looming figure with his arms crossed._

_"You're finally back," he says._

_Ten swallows around the nails in his throat. "Yeah."_

_"Did you have fun with Lisa?" His boyfriend turns and walks away from him, down the hall to their bedroom, without waiting for a response._

_Ten follows with hurried steps, eyes down._ _"Yeah," he says quietly. "Sorry it's so late. You didn't have to wait up."_

_The taller man pauses in front of Ten, and Ten reflexively takes a tiny step back. "I didn't, did I?" There's something menacing about the way he asks the question, and then he's spinning on his heel and crowding Ten against the wall, his fingers around Ten's neck, not squeezing, just pushing. Ten's hands fly up to hold onto his wrist as the blade of his hand digs into his throat."I didn't have to, but I did, because I worry about you," he growls. "Ungrateful."_

_His fist plows into Ten's vulnerable, exposed stomach, right under his rib cage. Ten doubles over with a shout that is quickly muffled by a palm pressed over his mouth. He drags his gaze upward when he is forced to, and when he looks at his boyfriend all he can see is the disgust in his eyes._

_"_ _Take a shower before you come to bed. You smell like everyone's been all over you."_

_"Sorry," Ten whispers behind the hand. His stomach hurts, and he's still trying to pull air into his lungs, but he can't stand the way his boyfriend is looking at him. He reaches with shaking fingers to cup his boyfriend's face in his hands. "I'll shower and come to bed. You wanna -- do something?"_

_He doesn't answer as he walks away, and it crushes Ten like he's being dragged under by rolling waves. He takes a shower as fast as he can and comes back out naked, dripping._

_It hurts when they fuck. But it's only because Ten deserves it._

"Woah, woah! Ten!"

A cloud of hot steam rises before his eyes and Ten startles back, blinking wildly, hands up around his face to block against the fist he sees in the corner of his eyes. His back hits the counter. Mark rushes forward and turns the steamer function off on the espresso machine, and the cloud of hot vapor dissipates. He whirls on Ten with wide eyes. 

"Are you okay? Can I see your hand?"

"What?" Ten asks, bewildered. His heart is going off like a jackhammer. 

"You, like, grabbed the rod with your bare hand," Mark says. He reaches his hand out and waits, eyebrows dipped in concern.

Ten opens his palms and turns them upward. His right palm is fine. In the center of his left palm, there's an angry red stripe that Ten realizes is throbbing. "Shit," Ten hisses, the pain registering. He hadn't noticed. He can't even really remember when he started cleaning the machine. Thankfully, the shop hasn't opened yet, so no customers have borne witness to his blunder. "Ow."

"Ow?" Mark repeats incredulously. He takes Ten's left hand and looks at it more closely. "Stay here. We've got a first aid kit in the back. I'll go get it."

"Okay," Ten gasps, eyeing his burn. His hands are starting to shake. He remembers that night after Lisa's party so vividly, all of the details, all of the words exchanged, the way the bruises bloomed on his body. The burn is turning shiny in his palm, and he wonders if it'll eventually match the one across his forearm.

"I'm back," Mark says, the first aid kit in his hands. "Let's patch you up."

.

Ten examines the grey skin under his bloodshot eyes in the mirror above the bathroom sink. The water runs from the faucet, ice-cold, as he tries to catch his breath. Under the harsh white light, he looks wan and waxy, a purplish tint under his skin, his hair limp and clumped with sweat and oil. He puts his hand under the water and hisses at the freeze that shocks his nerves. 

It's one in the morning. He checked. He'd only been asleep for a little over an hour before the nightmare woke him up this time. He can still feel the effects from the glass of wine he drank earlier slogging through his bloodstream, making his head feel heavy and dull.

The water doesn't help his nerves or his grip on reality. His fingers tremble under the spray as he tries to convince himself there isn't anyone behind the shower curtain or behind his closet door waiting for him, which is hard when he knows there's a monster lurking on the backs of his eyelids. When he takes his fingers out from under the faucet, they are as red as the burn mark slashed across his palm. Frustrated and angry with himself, he shuts off the water.

He claws at the bathroom mirror until his fingers catch the edge of the cabinet door and he can open it. Reaching inside to the very top shelf, he takes down orange bottle after orange bottle, reading the labels and replacing the bottles until he locates the tube of Ambien he's hidden there. It fits snugly inside the curve of his palm.

He opens the cap and shakes out a pill. Hard to believe such a little thing can put you to sleep. It's so tiny. 

He chews on the inside of his cheek, imagining the sweet relief of blacking out. Then he tilts the pill back inside of the bottle.

Maybe it's not worth it.

.

“Don’t laugh, okay?” Kun balances his guitar on his thigh with a shy, sheepish grin and Ten bites his lip to keep himself from laughing. "Don't laugh! Don't look!" 

"I'm not," Ten promises. He squeezes his body into the corner of Kun's couch and faces the living room window, so he can just make out Kun's reflection in the glass but isn't looking directly at him. "Just play it for me."

"Alright." Kun takes a breath and fits his fingers along the frets of the guitar's neck. 

The first couple of chords he strums sound like summer rainfall and make Ten's heart catch like it's been pierced through by a hook. He closes his eyes and lets Kun's music wash over him. It feels like being cradled in someone's arms. And then Kun starts to sing.

His voice is smooth and sweet, full of a warmth that is in small part due to innate ability and in a much larger part due to years of practice. The song is about love, and the tune sounds melodically mournful. Though Ten can only understand about a fifth of the words Kun is singing in Mandarin, the emotion translates across the barrier of language. Ten stays quiet for the whole song, pulled along by Kun's fingers, hypnotized by his voice. 

It's over much too soon. The last chord rings out and the quiet that overtakes it reminds Ten of held breaths and words not said. He turns in his seat to look at Kun.

"So do you think I should play it at the Open Mic? What do you think?" Kun pushes his hair back from his forehead nervously, eyes darting around Ten's figure and not making eye contact.

"Kun," Ten says, drowning in feeling. Kun looks at him with such openness and acceptance, even when his lips part slightly in question. He's handsome and silly and smart and loving, so kind Ten can hardly stand it. Kun is an ocean Ten wants to swim in forever. He crawls forward on his knees and takes Kun's guitar from his lap and carefully sets it aside on the ground, and then he takes the place of the guitar and straddles his legs across Kun's thighs. 

"So, it's good?" Kun asks when Ten cups his face in his hands and kisses his cheeks and his nose and sighs against his mouth. "Or so bad you have to distract me from it with this?"

"It's incredible," Ten says, placing two quick kisses above Kun's eyebrows. "You're incredible. Play it. You'll blow everyone away."

"I don't know about that..." Kun mumbles, but then he's too busy kissing Ten to continue, and Ten is too busy wriggling himself closer to Kun's body on his lap in an effort to disappear the pesky space between them. "God, Ten," Kun groans.

"I want you to touch me," Ten breathes.

"Yeah?" Kun's hands on Ten's hips are hot as coals. When he kneads his fingers into the fleshy part of his waist, Ten's mouth falls open on a stuttered moan. "You have no idea how beautiful you are."

"I have some idea," Ten whispers. He runs his fingers through Kun's hair, pushing it back then kissing him, then just breathing against his skin. 

Kun says, "I mean all of you. Not just your face, or your body."

_You smell like everyone's been all over you._

Ten whimpers when Kun continues to massage the softest parts of his sides, over his shirt, when Kun kisses Ten as carefully as he would handle a baby bird. It's not enough. Ten deepens the kiss, groaning as presses up against Kun and feels Kun stiffening underneath the layers of fabric between them.

_Ungrateful._

Ten gasps against Kun's mouth and flinches against the blow to his stomach that never comes. He must tense in Kun's arms because now Kun is pulling back. Now Kun's hands are on his shoulders, rubbing his skin in soothing circles. "Let's slow down," he's saying. "Hm? Ten? You with me?"

"Damn it," Ten bites out, tears of frustration springing to his eyes and leaking from the corners. He remembers Lisa calling him the morning after and not answering, not getting out of bed. Hurting all over.

Kun brushes the pads of his thumbs over his cheeks, his own expression troubled. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"I just want to kiss you," Ten cries pathetically. 

"I want to kiss you, too," Kun says evenly. "But only when you're ready."

Ten scoffs and rolls his eyes. "I'll never be ready." More angry tears spill down his cheeks. "I'll never be ready," he realizes with growing hysteria. "I'll never be fucking ready, Kun. Why are you wasting your time with me?"

Kun shakes his head. His hands trail down Ten's arms until he's loosely holding Ten's fingertips in his own. "It doesn't feel like I'm wasting my time," he says. "It feels like I'm building something with you. Will you please tell me what's on your mind? I've been worried, but every time I ask, it feels like you just get further and further away."

Ten curls in on himself. "I'm scared to tell you," he says.

"You can't scare me off, Ten. Anything you tell me can't be worse than the time I caught Yangyang trying to crawl into the oven."

"Then I'm not ready to tell you," Ten amends, and something in Kun's expression shutters closed. Ten feels another sob well up and overtake his body at the reaction, mind jumping to a million different conclusions all at once but all of them centered around Kun being tired of his bullshit. He stands from Kun's lap and pushes off his hands when he tries to reach for him. "I'm sorry," Ten says, padding around the living room to pick up his things hurriedly. His tote on the floor, his sunglasses on the window sill, his cup of iced coffee, now just dripping condensation onto Kun's tray table. "I'll go. I should just go. It's an off day. I'm sorry. I'm really tired. That's all. That's all, I swear."

"Ten," Kun says calmly, standing also. He doesn't raise his voice because Yangyang is still napping in his room. Ten's already by the door. Kun holds a book Ten brought with him the other day when they spent part of an afternoon with Yangyang in the park. Feels like ages ago, now. He comes around with it outstretched in his hand. "You left this, last time." Ten takes it and puts it in his tote quickly so that Kun can't see how his hands are shaking. "You don't have to go."

Ten puts on his sunglasses. The world becomes muted behind a shadow. He kisses Kun on the cheek and says, "I'll be better the next time you see me."

He goes home and pours himself a healthy glass of white wine and scrubs down the kitchen until it's gleaming, and when his knuckles are red and raw from the ruthless cleaning and the healing burn across the palm of his left hand is pulsing, he goes to the medicine cabinet and takes stock of what they have behind the mirror.

.

He wakes up in the kitchen holding a knife and a piece of bread, watching the world as though through a plastic film. He stares at his hands like they are foreign objects, like they aren't attached to his body. 

Taeyong's door opens and his roommate steps out pulling a tank over his torso and mumbling a morning greeting. Sunlight streams through their windows in the living room. Hours have passed since he remembers leaving his empty glass of wine in the sink.

"Morning," Ten mumbles back, as Taeyong pads into the kitchen behind him and opens the refrigerator to take out the orange juice. There's butter on the counter. Ten can't remember taking it out.

"Can you toast me one, too?" Taeyong asks.

"Sure," Ten says. He hopes Taeyong can't hear his voice breaking. He takes in as much air as he can in his lungs and lets it out slowly and goes about buttering his slice of bread, and then buttering another for Taeyong.

He's fine. He can pull himself together. 

Whatever happened last night, it’s better than the nightmares.

.


	16. Chapter 16

_Ten can't believe he's here, in this glittery, lavish, expensive restaurant in the heart of Bangkok with the man he's been dating now for three months_. _After a string of bad relationships and worse breakups all through college, Ten had given up on the idea of finding the perfect guy. He just didn't exist out there in the universe. Boys lied, and cheated, and told you that you were dumb, or that you were needy, or they were just plain mean. Ten was ready to take a break from romance and to figure out what he wanted to do next now that he had a Bachelor's degree from an American university under his belt._

_Perhaps he'd go to business school, or spend a year with his Aunt in London. He could do anything, really. The world had widened around him._

_And then he'd met him. The setting hadn't been anything special: a bar downtown where Ten was hanging out with Lisa and some of her friends. But the way he'd looked at Ten -- that had been special._

_Finally, here was someone who was never late to their dates, who showed his affection and interest through little praises and little gifts, who told Ten when he was getting in his own head about how he should know what he wants to do with his life by now to take a deep breath and live in the moment because Ten was doing fine. Ten was doing the best he could and no one should be asking for more. It was like taking a first, sweet, burning breath after being held underwater for too long._

_"You like it, baby?" he asks Ten, snapping him out of his reverie. The booth they are in is quiet and intimate, closed off from the other diners. Ten is wearing his nicest silk black shirt and still doesn't feel like he dressed well enough for their date._

_"I love it," Ten says. The smile he sends him glitters as brightly as the silverware bracketing their clean plates._

_"Knew you would."_

_The food on the menu is written in a language Ten can barely understand. He lets the other order for them both and blushes when he overhears him say to their waiter, "Lighter on the butter for him, please. He's watching his figure."_

_Ten is flattered. The man across from him remembers all the little things about Ten -- what he likes to eat and what he doesn't, the movies he wants to watch and when they come out, Ten's favorite song to dance to when they go clubbing. That Ten mentioned he hated the softness of his own hips just last week._

_He's always looking out for Ten. When he catches Ten staring at him, he winks at him, and the rest of the night passes in a buzzed, hazy blur._

_"I think I love you," Ten says later, giddy on the bubbly champagne they ordered and the other's attention._

_"I know, baby," he says. He's smiling._

.

"This one goes out to all the single ladies out there tonight." The kid at the mic can't be older than Mark, and his smile is full of youthful optimism. A swell of cheers meets his slick greeting, and the smile on his face turns smug.

Earlier in the day, Dejun and Mark set up the front of the cafe with a makeshift stage and even rented a spotlight they could shine down from one of the high shelves near the ceiling onto the performers. All the tables have been pushed to the back; filling the space now are chairs sitting in rows facing the small stage area. To Dejun's credit, most of the chairs tonight are filled with guests, and there have even been a couple of walk-ins from the street.

The low murmur of conversation as the young performer under the golden light sets up slowly fades into comfortable, anticipatory quiet, and Ten, content in his position behind the counter serving the wine that others have brought with them, leans his elbows onto the counter and waits.

"I'm Jeno," the boy at the mic says, "and I wrote this rap myself. Hit it, Jaemin."

Jeno signals to his partner on stage, who's set up with a laptop under a standing microphone. He presses a key with an audible click, and a slow, trippy beat begins to play.

Ten lets himself drift with the music. It's easy, the beat sounding the way it does, and Jeno's rap riding the rhythm like a surfer skims a wave. He swirls the glass of white wine in his hand. It's still chilled, the glass slick and cool, and the wine goes sweet and smooth down his throat. He watches the door. He drifts. He thinks about how much he loves nights exactly like this, when everything is calm and easy, and people are kind to each other in a space that he helped to create.

Mark is MC'ing tonight. Dejun claims it's because he himself is too shy to do it, but Ten suspects it's more because he's using the time he's not on stage to pull himself together before he sings his song that he wrote for a boy who is here tonight. 

Ten knows the boy is here tonight, because Dejun keeps turning in his seat near the front to sneak a glance at someone in the fifth row of chairs back from the stage. He blushes and bites his lip, turning back around abruptly when the boy notices him looking and waves at him. This has happened three times already. Ten kind of wishes Sicheng were here, because they could have made a drinking game out of it.

Or Kun. 

Ten watches door, and thinks back to the last time they saw each other. They'd gone for coffee at Kun's suggestion, and it had been bumbling and awkward. Kun had been very careful about not touching him, intentionally or by accident. That Ten had run away after they made out for a bit on Kun's couch yawned like a chasm between them.

That's what it had felt like to Ten, anyway. 

Still, Kun had kissed him on the lips when he left, and reminded him about Open Mic Night, and actually seemed excited about the prospect of seeing Ten again, so maybe Ten hadn't ruined everything completely.

So Ten watches the door, because Open Mic Night started an hour ago and Ten's two and a half glasses of wine in and he's starting to think maybe Kun isn't going to show, after all.

The thought hurts just as much as he imagined it would, like a tiny shard of glass worming its way into his heart. It's probably what he deserves, anyway. Good things don't stay with Ten. He drinks the rest of his glass and tries hard to stay in the moment, focused on Jeno, whose eyes are closed as he speaks his truth into existence. Tries to remind himself what Taeil said to him the last time he went to see him.

_You recognize when you're slipping, Ten. That's progress. That's huge._

The problem is that Ten isn't just slipping -- he's landsliding into a pit. Plagued with nightmare after nightmare almost every night, he drags himself through the day sleep-deprived and constantly on edge. The other day, he snapped at Mark for spilling some beans as he was refilling the espresso machine, which caused Mark to spill even more of them. No number of apologies from Ten's mouth, no insistence from Mark that he was fine, it was okay, could lift the heaviness that coated Ten's heart, and with every day that passes, every incident, that heaviness seems to squeeze ever tighter.

He hasn't told Taeil about all of it. After all, Taeil thinks he's making progress. And Ten would hate to disappoint him.

Jeno's performance ends. Mark takes the stage and announces the next act. Kun still doesn't come through the door.

.

_"Happy four years, baby."_

_The blindfold falls from around Ten's eyes as his boyfriend gently eases him into the room, his hand on the small of his back. Ten opens his eyes and gasps._

_He's standing in front of a mirror. His boyfriend loops his arms around him and in between his thumb and forefinger on each hand are the ends of a necklace, and dangling from the center of the thin silver chain are two platinum rings, smooth and perfect._

_"This night keeps getting better," Ten murmurs, letting his boyfriend clasp the necklace around him. The rings sit comfortably at the base of his throat and gleam in the light of their bedroom. He turns in the circle of the other's arms and holds him around his waist, rising up onto his toes to kiss him sweetly. "First you surprise me with dinner and a show, now this? What's next?"_

_"You want more?" his boyfriend teases, pushing against Ten to deepen the kiss. Ten's back hits the mirror and he gasps again, this time into his mouth. "Aren't you greedy."_

_"Sometimes you're so good to me," Ten moans._

_"I know," he says. "I'm trying to be better. I'm really trying, baby."_

_"I know." He holds him around his shoulders, cradled against him. He still has a bruise shaped like a fist blooming across his lower back from three nights ago, but he's said sorry since, and now his boyfriend is pushing his knee between Ten's thighs, kissing down the side of his neck. His fingertips dig into Ten's hips hard, but it's good. It's so good. It makes him feel wanted, and it feels so good to hope._

"Ten?"

Mark's voice is barely above a whisper, but it's like a shot ringing out in the darkness of the back of the cafe. Ten startles where he stands, forehead pressed against the door of the big silver refrigerator in the corner, the cool metal soothing against his skin. He pulls away guiltily and clears his throat.

"Yeah, Mark?"

"Uh, you okay back here?" Mark steps in through the doorway. "I just -- Dejun is about to go up, and I thought you wouldn't wanna miss it. Also, Kun is here with Yangyang."

"Kun is here with Yangyang?"

"That's what I said," Mark says with a nervous chuckle. "So you wanna come out to see them or…?"

"I'm coming." Ten pats the door of the refrigerator fondly, ignoring the way heat and excitement flashes across the surface of his skin at the mention of Kun's name. "I was just, um, checking the fridge still works. It does."

"Uh huh," Mark agrees knowingly. "Listen, Yangyang is all dressed up. It's _adorable_. Just warning you." He leaves Ten with a giggle so that Ten has a moment to collect himself on his own.

.

Dejun is setting up under the spotlight with his guitar when Ten emerges from the back. The student catches sight of Ten from the stool he's perched on and un-subtly nods toward stage right.

Ten's gaze tracks to where Dejun is indicating, and the tension in his jaw he hadn't noticed was even there dissipates when he sees Kun sitting in a chair, Yangyang in his lap, his guitar case on its side on the floor next to them. There's an empty chair behind Kun. Ten approaches and drags the chair over so that he can sit beside the father-son pair.

"Hi," he whispers when he takes his seat.

Kun turns to him with wide eyes. "Hi!" he half-whispers. "I'm so sorry we're so late. Yangyang fell asleep, and then I thought about if I should get a babysitter or not? And then he woke up, and then--" He shakes his head mid-ramble, stopping himself even though Ten thinks he could listen to him ramble non-stop for hours. "I'm really sorry. I was worried we weren't gonna make it at all!"

He looks so flustered with his kid in his lap that Ten, made bolder by all the wine he's drunk, just reaches over to cup Kun's cheek in his hand, silencing Kun with the single gesture. "It's okay," Ten whispers back. "You're here now."

He doesn't say, _I thought you weren't coming,_ because that doesn't matter anymore. Kun came. Ten smiles. Kun smiles back and Ten's stomach twists into the loveliest knots.

"Ten Ge." Yangyang's voice is watery and sweet. He rubs at his eyes with his tiny fists before holding his hands out in Ten's direction, the universal sign that he wants to be held. Ten looks at Kun before accepting Yangyang into his lap and into his arms, needing to hoist Yangyang from Kun's seat into his own. "Yangyang didn't fall asleep," Yangyang insists, head already laying against Ten's chest.

"Of course you didn't," Ten coos. He pats Yangyang's bottom a few times as the kid settles against him and Kun beams at them both. "Don't you look handsome tonight, though?"

"Yes," Yangyang says simply.

Ten laughs. Yangyang's wearing a gray button up tucked into a pair of navy shorts, a similar look to his father's light gray shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, french-tucked into dark olive pants. Ten's wearing all black. He almost came in sweats.

Up on the tiny stage, Dejun clears his throat. "Um," he starts shakily, looking at everything but the actual audience. "I wrote this song for someone who inspires me. He's really funny, and sweet, and, uh, he speaks Canto, just like me."

A smattering of supportive catcalls and whistles rises up from the small audience, and Ten chuckles when he notices the boy from before sinking a little lower into his seat with shaking shoulders as his friend next to him pats him on the back.

"Anyway, here goes." Dejun clears his throat again, strums a couple chords on his guitar, and begins.

.

Halfway through Dejun's song, Kun shifts his chair over until his seat is touching Ten's and carefully wraps his arm around Ten's shoulders. "I missed you," Kun murmurs.

"You saw me this weekend," Ten says quietly back. He turns to face him and finds Kun's gaze flickering between Ten's eyes and his mouth. The back of his neck heats pleasantly. "For coffee."

Kun grins, closing the distance between them slowly. "Still missed you." 

Ten tilts his face up toward Kun's. When their lips are mere millimeters apart, Yangyang wriggles in Ten's lap and lets out a huge snore, like paper ripping, and the pair of students in front of them crane their necks to look at them, shocked by the noise. 

"Sorry," Ten mouths, pulling back, laughing silently and holding Yangyang a little tighter. "He's so tired. I think it's past his bed time."

"He is _so_ cute," one of them says emphatically. "Y'all are, like, such cute dads."

Ten blinks. "Oh, I'm not--"

But it's useless because the students have already turned back around and Ten can only sit there, stunned silent and immobile. 

Kun buries his face in Ten's arm to laugh. “I’m sorry,” he says, muffled because his mouth is pressed to the rounded globe of Ten’s shoulder. “But the look on your face!”

“Do I look like his dad?” Ten asks, not breathing.

Kun sobers when he sees Ten’s stricken, confused expression, and curves his arm around Ten’s shoulders again. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Ten’s chest shudders with his slow, aching breaths. “I don’t know. It’s dumb. I never thought I was good with kids,” he admits. Yangyang sleeps open-mouthed against him, his little body tucked into the circle of Ten’s arms. Ten presses a tiny kiss to the top of the boy’s head.

Kun’s fingers are playing now with the shorter hairs at the base of Ten’s skull. “Why on earth would you think that? You’re amazing with Yangyang.”

“I don’t know,” Ten says again, even though he thinks he does. 

Kun pulls him in close and kisses his temple with a soft press of his lips. “I think you’d make a great dad,” he whispers.

Ten can't stop the smile that flashes across his lips and he tucks his face against Yangyang's hair again, shy at the compliment. After a moment of giddiness, he swipes at the drool leaking from the corner of Yangyang’s open mouth with his thumb before wiping it onto Kun’s shirt in the middle of his chest, biting into his bottom lip to keep his grin in check.

Kun sighs. “Thank you for that,” Kun says against his temple.

“Thank you,” Ten says back, thumb still pressed to Kun’s heartbeat. “I’m sorry for running away, that time. At your apartment.”

“It’s not a thing, Ten,” Kun insists.

“It is. It’s a thing. I’ll do it again. I need you to know that. And I’m sorry.”

“Then I forgive you for last time, and for all future times, too.”

Ten’s heart skips in his chest as a swell of emotion inflates inside of him like a hot air balloon. He could float. “Don’t forgive me yet. Forgive me later, when I need to hear it again.”

“Done,” Kun promises. His heartbeat under Ten’s thumb is steady and true. 

Ten raises his hand to cup Kun’s cheek and draw him in for another kiss. Being with Kun reminds Ten of the moment you make it past the hardest part of a long, strenuous hike to the top of a mountain, and the vista you've been striving for sweeps into view, stealing your breath. You feel simultaneously small and like you’re on top of the world. Sometimes he thinks that with Kun, there will always be another vista around the corner. It's both exhilarating and terrifying. “Thank you, again.”

The song Dejun is playing comes to an end. The audience is silent as the last chord strummed on Dejun’s guitar tapers off into nothing. Precious, pregnant seconds pass, and then the boy in the seat five rows back from the stage stands up. Dejun stares at him with wide eyes, like a cat facing down a stranger, two spots of pink coloring his cheeks.

“Dejun,” the boy says in a clear tenor. “Are you gonna take me out on a date, or what?”

.


	17. Chapter 17

"Okay, okay, okay, let's settle down." Mark speaks into the mic and gestures on the stage for everyone to sit back down after Dejun's performance and unexpected flight out of the cafe. The boy in the fifth row had run out after him, much to the delight of the audience, who clapped and cheered as the two boys caught up to each other outside. Some even rose out of their seats to crowd against the window, hoping for a spectacle, but realizing they had an audience, the boy had steered Dejun carefully by the elbow to the park across the street where they disappeared from view. Ten has no doubt they'll be back soon, and probably hand in hand.

"That was really adorable," Kun whispers to him out of the corner of his mouth as members of the audience take their seats again. His arm is warm and solid around Ten's shoulders, and Yangyang is like a rock sinking into Ten's thighs; both of their weights are welcome, the gentle pressure reminding Ten how close they are.

"Ah, young love," Ten responds wistfully.

"Did you ever do anything like that?"

Ten shakes his head. "I'm actually not really fond of public displays like that," he admits. "It's super embarrassing to me. Like I get really flustered and panicky and it's -- it's just not pretty."

"It's good that I wasn't planning on serenading you tonight, then," Kun teases, pointing at his guitar.

"You say that like you were..." Ten flushes, and Kun only chuckles mysteriously, eyes dark but full of spark.

"Don't worry -- anything I have planned will be subtle and mostly private, okay?"

"So you _do_ have something planned." Ten narrows his eyes in gleeful suspicion. Despite not liking public displays like that, he does love well-intended surprises, which Kun already knows.

Kun mimes zipping his lips shut and throwing away the key, and Ten sputters out a laugh as Mark calls him up onto the stage next.

"Here for the first time tonight and playing an original song, please welcome to the stage...Kun!" Polite applause follows Mark's announcement, and as Kun takes his guitar out of its case and pads up to the front, Ten's eyes never leave him. Privately, he admires the strong line of Kun's shoulders filling out his structured shirt, the tight taper of his waist, and he wonders what Kun looks like underneath his clothes.

Is he soft and pale? Does he have scars? Ones that he hides, ones that he'll share stories about with Ten? Ten has pressed his lips over the tiny moles dotted low across Kun’s neck, and now he thinks about if there are others on his body waiting to be discovered and kissed.

He would like very much to kiss them.

As Kun settles onto the stool on stage, one foot propped higher on the rungs than the other so that he can rest his guitar on his knee, Ten wonders if this is what relationships feel like to everyone else: soft and fuzzy around the edges, warm and full, like he's at the beach and the water is the perfect temperature for lazing, and Kun is there with his hand under Ten's back as he floats, making sure he doesn't sink. He dissects this moment into a million, trillion parts -- the audience going quiet again, the spotlight burning, his heart thumping loudly in his chest -- and thinks every single piece is perfect. Kun finds his eyes from the stage and holds his gaze, smiling a dimpled smile just for Ten.

"I wrote this song for my son, actually." Kun starts with some hesitation, speaking into the mic, but he quickly gains confidence. "Ah, I didn't actually prepare anything to say beforehand. Am I supposed to?"

"You're doing great!" someone calls out from the audience, and Ten snickers when this makes Kun blush.

"Ah, okay?" Kun continues. He strums a chord on his guitar and the notes ring out clear and vibrant. The audience seems to shift forward as one in anticipation. "Well, my son, Yangyang. He's three this year." He strums another chord. "He's right over there." He points to Ten and again as one the audience swivels in their seats to look. A mixture of _oohs_ and _aahs_ and hushed whispers of how cute Yangyang is reaches Ten's flaming ears. Kun strums another chord and effortlessly brings the audience's attention back to himself on stage, greeting them with his beaming smile.

Ten swallows. Kun's a natural at this, and his unaffected display of his hidden talent is making Ten's heart beat even faster in his chest. As the song picks up in earnest and Kun starts to hum the melody over the chords, Ten dips his chin down and whispers soft words into Yangyang's hair: "Wake up, baby. Your Baba is playing for you."

Yangyang gurgles something unintelligible and wipes his face in Ten's shirt, leaving wet spots. Ten lightly scratches the back of Yangyang's head, tangling his fingers in his hair. He smells like peaches and linens and honey. "Baba…" Yangyang whines while rubbing at his eyes.

"Shh, shh, he's up there." Ten shifts Yangyang so that he can more comfortably see the stage. The boy blinks owlishly a few times in Ten's lap, limp with having just been woken up, and gasps when he finally realizes what he's looking at.

"Baba!" he calls out cheerfully.

On stage, Kun's fingers stumble slightly over the chords, shoulders folding over as he chuckles. He adjusts and corrects quickly, but not before sending Yangyang -- and Ten -- a reassuring wink.

"God," Ten whispers. Yangyang claps and babbles something about how cool it is that his Baba is on TV quietly to himself. “Yeah, he’s a pretty cool dad, isn’t he?”

The song is the one Kun played for Ten back in his apartment, and here in the little coffee shop with the lights dimmed down around the stage so that Kun sits in a halo of brightness all on his own, it evokes the same feeling of warmth and tenderness deep in Ten’s chest.

 _You have no idea how beautiful you are,_ Kun had told him, hands bracketing his hips but his eyes boring into him, like he could see who Ten was at his very core.

Ten is not used to people looking so closely, and with so much intent. The long sleeves and slightly baggy clothes had been a habit long before his ex had started leaving visible marks on him. It was easier to hide that way. Easier, overall, not to be seen, because being seen leaves you vulnerable.

Then Kun comes along and feeds him chocolate and calls him sweetheart, brings him half-crushed flowers lovingly picked by his son, goes on drunk-painting dates with him, holds him on the couch when kissing becomes too much for Ten to handle. Calls him beautiful anyway, when Ten feels anything but. Ten’s chest shakes when he breathes, like a pressure release, like something inside of him is loosening, becoming unscrewed.

Yangyang peers up at him and touches his cheek with his slightly sticky hand. “Ten Ge, don’t cry,” he whispers, frowning. His eyes carry the light.

Ten shudders, leaning in Yangyang's tiny palm. “Your dad is really good,” Ten says. “It’s okay. I’m not crying because I’m sad.”

“Sometimes Baba cries when he thinks about Mama,” Yangyang says. “And Yangyang gives him a kiss and he feels better. Can Yangyang give Ten Ge a kiss?”

“Sweetie, you’re the most precious kid in the world.” Ten tries to keep it together as Yangyang inches up to plant a wet one on Ten’s cheek, and chuckles breathlessly at Yangyang’s waiting, expectant expression when he settles back down into Ten’s lap. “I feel so much better,” Ten tells him.

Yangyang just smiles and wraps his short, twiggy arms as far as they’ll go around Ten’s middle, nuzzling into him as Kun finishes his song.

.

As predicted, Dejun returns with the boy after Kun's song ends and the next performer -- another student and friend of Mark's -- takes the stage. They're holding hands, and Dejun keeps breaking out into a smile, trying to reign it in, and then breaking out into a smile again as they sneak along the outer edges of the cafe around to the back, near where Ten is sitting and Kun is settling back into his seat. The other boy is taller than Dejun by almost a head, and he trails behind Dejun grinning and not hiding it at all.

Ten waves them both over as Yangyang debates if he wants to sit in his father's lap or stay in Ten's.

"Hi, Dejun," Ten whispers when Dejun shuffles over quickly. The other boy lingers behind, bouncing slightly on his toes. Ten leans over to get a good look at him and sticks out his hand. "Hi, there. I'm Ten."

"H-Hendery," the boy says. He steps forward hastily to take Ten's hand into his, shaking it vigorously. "Wow."

"Henry?"

"No, Hendery," Hendery repeats. "I know it's weird."

"It's not weird," Ten reassures him, smiling. "Sorry I got it wrong the first time."

"It's okay! Everyone does. I mean, even _Lao Xiao_ over here did."

Dejun's cheeks darken in a blush at the nickname, and Kun laughs.

" _Lao Xiao_ ," Kun repeats. "If Dejun is _lao_ then we must seem ancient to you."

"Not that ancient," Hendery says, to which Dejun elbows him lightly in the side. Hendery turns wide eyes at him. "What? It's kind of a compliment."

"Ten is gonna be my boss, Hendery," Dejun says quietly, hissing like a spooked kitten. "Please don't make him fire me before I even start."

"I won't fire you."

Hendery beams, and Ten can see why being around him makes Dejun so nervous and giddy. He gives off the same brightness and energy as the sun. "See? He won't fire you."

"Still," Dejun pouts.

Hendery immediately pulls him in against his side, arm around Dejun's waist. "Oh no! Don't make a sad face. We're happy tonight!"

They are what Ten might call puppy love, adorable to watch as they yip at each other and chase each other's tails. He thinks Dejun looks content, tucked against Hendery's side. "I just wanted you to meet Kun, finally. And Yangyang, if he's up for it," Ten says.

As Kun introduces himself to the boys, Yangyang wriggles up higher in Ten's lap with an earnest glow to his eyes, and Ten leans so that the boy can press his lips right up against Ten's ear. "Ten Ge," Yangyang says like he's sharing a precious secret, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Yangyang loves you."

Ten looks down at him in shock. The unprompted confession makes it even sweeter, and he grasps at the words to preserve them in his collection of all the things that make him happiest. "Oh? You do?"

Yangyang nods and sits back down. 

"Ten loves Yangyang, too," he says, knowing it's true the moment he says the words aloud. Yangyang grins excitedly, and Ten slides his gaze over to Kun, who is talking to Dejun about composition now, about piano lessons in the Village and writing songs in multiple languages. Kun catches his eye mid-sentence. He reaches over to put his hand over Ten's on his knee. After a moment of breathless wondering, Ten turns his palm upward and threads their fingers together, holding him. _I think I love you_ , he says inside of his heart. _I really think I do._

Kun can't hear what he says, but maybe, maybe he can feel it through the places where they are connected in this moment, their fingers interlaced, his hand on Ten's thigh.

.

"Did you have fun tonight?" Kun asks his son, who's sitting on Kun's shoulders as they walk home. The streetlights are on and the sky is a black velvet curtain above them, and Yangyang cries out in delight when Kun tips over to the side slightly, pretending to be steered by Yangyang's grips on his ears. Ten, watching from beside, reflexively puts his hands up behind the toddler to catch him in case he falls.

He doesn't, though. Kun has a good grip on him.

"Baba, this way!" Yangyang points in the direction of the park.

"That way?"

"This way!" Yangyang kicks his feet and pulls on Kun's ear and Kun laughs even though it must be at least a little bit painful, and the sound tugs at Ten's heartstrings.

"Don't pull too hard, baby. I'd like for your dad's ears to stay attached to his head."

"Zoom!" Yangyang says. "Zoom, zoom, zoom! Let's go, Baba!"

"I'm just gonna run to the end of the block and back," Kun says under his breath, winking at Ten before taking off with a shrieking little boy on his shoulders. Ten rolls his eyes, adjusting his grip on Kun's guitar case, and follows at a walking pace.

"Don't trip!" Ten calls out after them, never having thought he'd be the responsible, nagging one in a relationship.

Kun doesn't trip. He circles back around, breathless and laughing, with Yangyang looking like he's been swept through a turbine. "C'mon, slowpoke!" Kun teases, turning again and traipsing to the end of the block.

.

The door to Yangyang's room opens and Kun emerges from inside, his hair raised into little horns from where his son had been holding onto him. "He's asleep," Kun announces in a hushed voice. His shirt has come untucked, and Ten notices the slight bags under his eyes.

"C'mere." He beckons Kun over to where he is sitting on the couch. The apartment has become more furnished since the last time he visited -- there's a rug underneath the couch, now, and a small coffee table between the couch and the television stand. In the corner where there had been a bookshelf now sits a compact and stationary exercise bike. Kun pads over and eases himself onto the couch next to Ten, slipping under his arm with a sigh. "Tired?"

Kun hums and leans onto Ten's shoulder. With careful fingers, Ten smooths out the horns on Kun's head until his hair lies flat again.

"You were so good tonight," Ten tells him.

"Thank you. It was a lot of fun."

"I'm glad."

Kun turns his face into Ten's skin, his breath tickling the side of Ten's neck. "Can I kiss you?" he asks. His lips brushing across his skin makes Ten's whole body tingle.

"Yeah," Ten says, angling himself toward Kun so that they can shift closer together. His arm wraps around the expanse of Kun's shoulders as his lips find Kun's cheek, then the sharp edge of his jaw. Kun cups his cheek, guiding him forward to kiss his mouth. His thumb brushes across his cheek, back and forth and back, slowly and insistently, and Ten's mouth falls open again so that he can draw Kun's thumb in between his lips.

"Oh," Kun breathes, pulling back, his eyes the darkest Ten's ever seen them. " _Oh_ ," he says again wretchedly, watching how Ten's lips wrap around his thumb. Pressure on Ten's tongue makes his jaw drop open, and he moans a little when Kun presses his thumb deeper inside. "This okay, sweetheart?"

Ten nods, letting Kun turn him this way and that, kissing the corners of his lips, using his thumb in his mouth like it's a lever. When he pulls his thumb back Ten whimpers, following it, wanting it like a hook at the end of a line.

"Shh." Kun leans against the back of the couch, and guides Ten to do the same, their faces so close that Ten is breathing in all of Kun's exhalations. They lay there, watching each other, chests rising and falling in sync. Kun touches him with such care that Ten's chest feels like it's shattering with want. "Ten," he says.

Ten huffs a little nervously at the unexpected and sudden seriousness in his tone. "Kun?"

"We've been seeing each other now for about two months," he says slowly. His hand is against Ten's neck, where Ten is sure Kun can feel his pulse fluttering with nerves.

Has it already been two months? Ten marvels silently at how quickly the time has passed. At the same time, it feels like he's known Kun for years. His heart hammers inside of his rib cage. He wonders why Kun is bringing this up now. Sure, it's been a couple of months. They've been taking it slow. Have they been taking it _too_ slow? Did Kun want something more from Ten than kissing? Because Ten wasn't sure he could do that, not now, anyway. The thought of going any further than they have been -- innocent kisses and the occasional necking, here and there -- makes adrenaline spike in Ten's chest. His eyes flit between Kun's mouth and eyes, to his chest and back up, to his lap and back up. He licks his lips. He could try it again. If Kun wanted. If that's what Kun wanted.

"Hey," Kun says gently. "I can see you thinking. Stay with me."

"I'm here," Ten says plaintively, wanting whatever it is that Kun's about to tell him to be over with. Either Kun's going to want more from Ten tonight or he's going to break up with him, he reasons. He steels himself for either, or both. 

Kun licks his lips, too. He shuffles a little closer on the couch, the movement awkward because of how they're both laying against the back cushions. "Sorry, I'm really nervous," Kun admits shakily.

"What are you nervous about?"

"Asking you," Kun says. "I wanted to ask you something tonight. You said you didn't like a spectacle."

Ten thinks back to the cafe, to Dejun's confession song, to Hendery's outburst in the audience, to the way the two boys giggled to each other as they were leaving the cafe. "Oh my god," Ten whispers in realization.

"Yeah." Kun chuckles. "So do you wanna be my boyfriend? I heard it's not official until we put it up online somewhere."

"Kun!" Ten whisper-shouts.

"On second thought, we don't really have to put it up online," Kun says.

"I thought you were going to -- ask me something else," Ten admits with a cloying feeling in his stomach. It must show on his face, because in the next moment, Kun is holding him close and whispering reassurances into his hair.

"Not that, I'd never pressure you. I promise," Kun says. "I just like you a lot. And I'd love it if we were boyfriends, and official. Whatever it is young people call it nowadays."

"I'd love it, too," Ten says. Just like that, the cloying feeling breaks apart. Disintegrates. He grins into Kun's chest, kisses his shirt above his heart. He is lighter than air. He holds onto Kun so that he doesn't shoot straight up into the atmosphere. "I'm really happy right now, Kun."

Kun's returning laughter is as sweet as honey to Ten's ears. "I'm happy, too, Ten," he says. "I'm happy with you."

.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait. please take care reading this chapter. there's a scene that starts and ends with italics that is related to ten's trauma that can be difficult to stomach. feel free to DM me if you want more info before deciding if you want to read.

"He can be a little fussy before he goes down for his nap," Kun says to one of the young daycare teachers whom Kun unfortunately singled out and pulled to the side after Yangyang who, upon entering the classroom, immediately ran to the first little girl he saw and proceeded to make funny faces at her to make her laugh. 

There are four other teachers stationed around the classroom, all of them greeting the children as their guardians drop them off for the first official day of the 'school year'. Most of the toddlers have already paired off in the various nooks and stations around the brightly colored room, while the parents and caretakers speak with the teachers. Ten hangs by Kun's side, torn between wanting to support his boyfriend as he details Yangyang's nap routine to the woman wearing a yellow apron in front of them and wanting to take pictures of Yangyang making friends with absolutely everyone in the class. He decides he can do both, and sneaks a couple of pictures of Yangyang with his phone.

"If he's too fussy,” Kun continues to the teacher still nodding politely at him, “you can rub his belly when he goes down. He likes that a lot and he'll drop off to sleep pretty quick. But if he's not too fussy, then don't rub his tummy. Because it'll just annoy him and make him fussier. It's a fine line--"

"Qian-san," the teacher begins, her smile steady and practiced. Her calm, soothing voice still cuts through the noise of Kun’s rambling effectively. "Mr. Qian, we're very excited to have Yangyang-kun with us. You filled out the survey online already, right?"

Kun makes a noise of agreement, his eyes wide.

"Then we have everything we need. You don't need to worry, okay? I can see Yangyang-kun is already making friends. He'll fit right in, Mr. Qian."

Ten fits his hand against Kun's back and notices the straight, tense line of Kun's shoulders relax incrementally. "Let's go, Baba," Ten says, sending the teacher a pleasant smile of his own, "they've got this covered." 

"I know, I just--" Kun looks to Ten helplessly and leans into his touch, the careful, gentle press of his fingers. He sighs. "You're right. Sorry."

The teacher grins at them both. "The first day can be hard, but please don't worry. We'll take very good care of him."

"Right," Kun says, nodding once as though to convince himself. "Thank you." He bows a little stiffly before turning toward the door when Ten nudges him. "Thank you. Bye, Yangyang!" he calls out cheerfully to his son. 

Yangyang flashes Kun a wide, beaming smile and waves his hand enthusiastically at his father, but doesn't move away from his new friends. "Bye Baba! Bye Ten Ge!"

"Bye, baby," Ten says, pulling Kun now by his elbow.

"He didn't even come to give me a goodbye kiss," Kun's whispering as they leave the classroom. "His own father…"

"I'll give you a kiss," Ten promises. "You baby. Yangyang is handling this better than you are."

The daycare run by Yuta’s mother is on the second floor of a quiet building in Midtown, near the Japanese embassy. It had taken a word from Yuta, a short interview between Kun and the head teacher, and a meeting with both Kun and Yangyang at the daycare with Yuta's mother herself for Yangyang to be accepted, but in the end it all worked out, and when Kun asked Ten to be there with him on Yangyang’s first day, he jumped at the chance to send off his favorite toddler. 

It’s a sunny, humid day out -- hopefully one of the last heat waves before the start of autumn -- and the walk back to the subway station is four blocks across long, scorching avenues. Ten can feel sweat trickling down the back of his neck, dipping under the collar of his thin long-sleeved shirt, as the sun beams down on them both, but he keeps his hand tucked in Kun’s elbow despite the heat. 

Kun is quiet. Ten counts the number of times he glances over to catch Kun biting into his lip and lost in thought: 5. On the sixth, Ten herds Kun down one of the avenues when they reach the corner and says, “Let’s get something to cool off. I’m  _ so  _ thirsty.”

Kun lets himself be guided down the block, but he raises his eyebrows at Ten. “Don’t you have to be back at the cafe soon?”

“Trying to get rid of me?” Ten teases.

“No, of course not.” 

Ten flushes at the earnest response and pulls him to the inside of the sidewalk, where there’s a column of shade. “It’ll be fine. Mark’s got it covered, and Dejun is capable. I told them I’d be there late, anyway.”

“You put a lot of trust in them, huh.”

Ten straightens and grins. “Taeil says I should try to rely on other people more. So I’m just doing my therapy homework, really.”

“It’s more than that, and you know it,” Kun says. He straightens his arm in order to hold Ten’s hand, and his grip, despite the humidity, is dry and firm. “How about this place?” Kun asks, pointing with both of their hands to a coffee shop on the corner of the next block.

“Let’s do it. I’m dying in this heat.”

“You’re wearing long sleeves, of course you’re hot,” Kun says offhandedly. The comment pricks at Ten’s skin, but he knows Kun doesn’t mean anything by it. “Let’s find you some air conditioning,” he continues.

Ten follows Kun into the shop, glued to his side as cold air blasts into their faces from the unit installed above the door. The morning rush has come and gone, and it’s quiet inside the shop, only a couple of individuals reading on their phones or working on their laptops scattered around the space at tables. They both order iced green teas at the counter and take their drinks to a small, rickety table at the front of the cafe, sitting opposite each other. Ten plays with Kun’s fingers above the table as the other takes out his phone and checks his notifications, eyebrows furrowed in consternation.

“What is it?” Ten asks.

“It’s nothing,” Kun says. He puts his phone face-down on the table and fixes a smile on his face for Ten to see, his expression mask-like. 

“It’s not nothing,” Ten says. “What’s bothering you? Are you worried about Yangyang?” 

Kun laughs in a strangely detached way that makes Ten’s stomach turn over inside of him. “I’m always worried about Yangyang,” he says, sipping his tea.

“But what are you worried about this time, in particular?” Ten asks carefully. 

“I don’t know,” Kun says immediately, looking away. Ten lets the quiet linger between them, his thumb brushing across the back of Kun’s hand. And then Kun sighs and says, “I told my mom about Yangyang’s first day. You know what she said? She said, wouldn’t he be better off with family while I get myself settled at university?”

“Like, in Fuzhou?”

Kun’s smile softens as he looks at Ten. “Yeah, in Fuzhou. You remembered that?”

“Of course I did.”

"I miss it," Kun confesses. "I can't lie -- I don't think I would have made it if I hadn't moved home in the year after Vivian's passing, if my mom hadn't been there to help me take care of Yangyang. But it was...hard there, too. Somehow everything reminded me of Vivian even though we'd only ever been in Fuzhou together for the holidays, really. We lived in Hong Kong, you know?"

"I know," Ten says, to let Kun know he's listening. “I remember.”

"Even that was tough. Mom always wanted me to come home. And then…" Kun tucks his chin to his chest. “She doesn’t think I can do it,” he says quietly. “Not alone, anyway.”

“Yangyang loves you so much,” Ten starts quietly, aware that the only other sounds in the coffee shop are the humming of the machines, the soft pop music playing overhead, and the pattering of keys on keyboards. “You’re an amazing dad. Yangyang’s going to be just fine.”

“I really hope so,” Kun whispers.

“And you’re not alone,” Ten says, squeezing Kun’s hand.

Kun takes a huge sip of his tea before raising his gaze, and when he does, his eyes are glistening. He sniffs. “You don’t mean…”

“I mean it,” Ten says. “We’re like, official, remember?”

Kun laughs again, but this time it’s warm and fond. “I remember,” he says. He squeezes Ten’s hand back. “When did you say you had to be at the shop again?”

“Late morning,” Ten says. “Why?”

.

Ten spends the rest of the morning baking funfetti cookies with Kun in Kun's kitchen. 

"I want to surprise Yangyang with something nice when he gets home, to celebrate his first day."

"What if he expects you to bake cookies for him every day now?" Ten asks, elbows deep in sprinkles.

"Then I'll just have to learn the recipes to 365 different kinds of cookies," Kun surmises. He skims the flour off the top of the measuring cup before dumping it into a bowl with the other dry ingredients. 

Ten says, "I never thought  _ I'd _ be the one reminding you to mind your and Yangyang's sugar intake."

Kun kisses Ten against his temple and smiles against his skin, his fingers dusted in flour. His hands hover around Ten's cheeks, not quite touching, so Ten kisses the pads of each of his fingers before nudging Kun to the sink to wash his hands. They put the raw cookies in the oven to bake, and then they make out on the couch for exactly twelve minutes, until the timer goes off.

As Kun bends over to pull the rack of cookies from the oven, the whole apartment smelling like butter and vanilla and the round and perky globes of Kun's butt in plain, delicious sight, Ten thinks he could do this every morning and never get tired of it. He leans his hip against the kitchen counter and watches Kun tap his finger over one of the cookies to test the rawness, and he is filled with love.

"Kun," Ten says, licking his lips, "come here?"

Kun makes an inquiring sound and closes the oven door, stepping closer to him. His hair is falling in front of his eyes, so Ten rakes it back with his fingers as he rises up onto his toes and presses his lips to Kun's waiting mouth. Kun's tiny, happy gasp of surprise is just as sweet as the sugar in the cookie dough.

"I wish that my job was just kissing you," Ten says, pecking Kun again. "Full time, all benefits included."

Kun chuckles against him and says, "I think that's called being a trophy husband."

"You better get rich quick then."

"Isn't your family already rich?" Kun asks, sly and smarmy and making Ten burn with it. He steps even closer, until there's nothing but the thin fabrics of their shirts between them.

"Isn't  _ yours _ ?" Ten quips in response.

"You've got a point," Kun accedes. "I suppose we can both be trophy husbands to each other."

"I suppose," Ten says. "Now shut up and keep kissing me."

Kun growls, pressing Ten against the counter, his hands broad and folded around the edges of Ten’s waist. “Yes, sir.”

No one has ever kissed Ten the way Kun kisses Ten. Or maybe it’s just that Ten has never felt this way about anyone else before. Held between Kun’s arms like this, their hips aligned with Kun’s lips on his, feels like stepping into a sunbeam after hours left out in the cold. He shivers when Kun touches him carefully, his fingers always seeking permission before exploring further. Kun leaves soft, feathery light kisses down the side of Ten’s face, along the sharp edge of his jaw, down the column of his neck. Ten steps his legs apart slightly, so that Kun can fit against him tighter, closer, hotter. He clutches at the fabric of Kun’s shirt across his back, breathing in deep when Kun mouths at Ten’s pulse and then trails kisses over his skin, traveling down his body.

Cool air hits Ten’s exposed collarbones as Kun pulls at the neck of Ten’s shirt to reveal more skin to be worshiped. His mouth is so warm, his tongue so wet and soft. Just when Ten’s knees begin to tremble, Kun pulls back, his thumbs rubbing small circles over Ten’s hips. Ten opens his eyes to see Kun’s tiny frown, the concern making his eyes dark.

“What happened here?” Kun asks quietly. He raises one hand and brushes his fingers over the raised, rough skin of Ten’s scars mottling the dip between his neck and shoulder. 

The spike of panic is immediate. Ten drags his shirt back up to cover his skin and folds his arms across his chest, shielding himself from Kun’s worried, prying eyes. “An accident,” Ten whispers, the words a reflex and his voice harsh and stoppered with emotion.

“It doesn’t really look like an accident, sweetheart,” Kun says. 

Ten feels like a bucket of ice has been dumped over his head. 

It hadn’t been an accident at all, but a deliberate, awful act of violence. It’s something he and Taeil have talked about a lot -- his scars and how he got them, the role he played and the role he didn’t play, what they mean to him now. He’s used creams and makeup to make them lighter but the thought of getting rid of them completely through cosmetic surgery still feels like a lie to him. Seeing them everyday in the mirror is a constant reminder of the darkest period of his life. His hand inches up to cover his neck as he swallows the lump in his throat. “Sorry. It wasn’t an accident, but I didn’t do it myself, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Oh, Ten, no.”

“My ex was violent.” The admission makes the knot around his neck loosen, makes the blood in his veins start to move again. Kun says nothing, just leans forward to kiss Ten on the forehead, his hands at Ten’s waist again. “Really, really violent. I’m -- I’ve got scars everywhere.”

Kun breathes against Ten's skin, enveloping him in warmth. “And I’ll kiss all of them, if you’ll let me.”

“Maybe,” Ten says. Slowly, he lets his guard down and hugs his arms around Kun’s middle. Sunbeams, Ten thinks. Summer in the park, full to bursting with happiness. He is a handful of ripe berries and Kun is the hand. He lays his head against Kun’s shoulder and sighs. “Maybe I’ll let you.”

Ten doesn’t go to the cafe until around noon, but it’s fine. Mark and Dejun greet him with all the enthusiasm of two puppies welcoming a loved one home.

.

_ Ten wakes when the mattress dips and the bed creaks. He can smell the alcohol on his boyfriend’s breath and groans when he feels him snake his arms around his middle and press up behind him.  _

_ “You awake baby?” he slurs into his ear. His breath is hot and damp and nauseating. Ten curls his knees up to his chest under the covers, hoping that pretending to be asleep will make him leave him alone. _

_ It doesn’t. _

_ With a familiar and slow, burning horror, he feels his boyfriend scratching at the hem of his boxers, pulling them down when his fingers catch on the elastic band. Ten starts to squirm, pretending to wake, hoping again that this will make him stop, but his arm simply tightens like a vice around Ten’s chest, holding him still, binding him to him. _

_ “What are you doing?” Ten murmurs. He winds his arm back and manages to wedge a hand between their bodies and pushes at him, but he’s built like a brick wall and just as immovable.  _

_ “I want you,” he says simply. He rolls his hips against Ten, making his intentions clear. _

_ “I’m tired,” Ten says, trying to keep his rising anxiety at bay, forcing his voice steady and unassuming. “I’m tired, please. It’s the middle of the night. I don’t want to.” _

_ Ten’s boxers slip off his hips. He pulls at the fabric, trying to cover himself, while his boyfriend rips them back down again.  _

_ “Just once,” he growls. _

_ “No,” Ten pleads. “You’re drunk. You’re gonna hurt me. Get off. Just wait until morning.” _

_ “Stay still--” _

_ “No--” Ten starts to struggle. He doesn't want this at all. _

_ "Stop moving--" _

_ "No--!" _

_ Ten throws his elbow back and it hits the other squarely in the solar plexus. For a moment, they both freeze, shocked and winded. Ten’s eyes burn with the pressure behind them, the panic rising up to this throat and suffocating him, rendering him mute. Then there’s a claw around his throat. The points of his boyfriend’s fingers dig into the thin, vulnerable column of his neck. He is shaken like a ragdoll, coughing and wheezing, before being thrown back onto the mattress. Ten’s head bounces off the surface of his pillow with the force of it, and he chokes on the air that flows back into his windpipe. _

_ “Crazy bitch,” his boyfriend hisses. _

_ "Sorry--" He covers his head with his arms on reflex, but nothing comes. The bed dips again as Ten forces himself to breathe through the nails in his throat. The door slams shut. Ten's heart pounds like a jackhammer into concrete. He counts to twenty. He counts to forty. When he reaches a hundred, he unfurls cautiously and peeks out into the room.  _

_ It's empty. _

.

Terror makes his tongue taste like metal in his mouth. His room is black as pitch, and his head spins as he blinks rapidly, trying to get his bearings. He falls out of bed. He claws his way up his nightstand and tries to understand the numbers that flash in front of him when he slaps his phone to see the time.

Nothing makes sense. He thinks of Kun, and he thinks of his ex, and he tries very, very hard to keep them apart in his mind. Untwisting his tangled memories is a long and painful process, and it feels like digging his fingers into a raw, open wound. 

He cries, and he shakes. He opens the drawer to his nightstand and the bottle of sleeping pills slams into the side closest to him. They spill into his hand and into his mouth. He imagines he's swallowing his own teeth.

.

Something is buzzing in his palm. Ten has a feeling it's been buzzing for a long time. He blinks against the light reflecting off the sidewalk, and throws his hands up in front of his face to shield himself against the glare. 

"Hey," someone says close to him, their voice murky and obscured like he's underwater. "Are you alright?"

Ten jolts back when a hand touches his shoulder, gasping when his shoulder blades meet a solid but bumpy surface. He casts his gaze downward, peering between his fingers, and sees dusky brown slatted wood.  He's on a bench. 

"Are you okay?" The person talking to him is a young woman with a book bag slung over one shoulder. Her hands hover but don't touch. "Should I call someone?"

"What?" Ten asks. "Where--?"

"You're in the park," she explains. "You just sort of...fainted. I think. But into a bench, so good aim, I guess."

Ten lowers his hands. The light feels like it's burning directly into his retinas, but he manages to look around with narrowed eyes, confusion clouding his senses. "The park?"

"Yeah," she says. "Oh, someone is calling you."

Ten stares at the phone in his hands. He glances down at himself and realizes he's still wearing the clothes he changed into to sleep last night. His house slippers don his feet. Around him, patches of green and stretches of dirt. Sunlight filters through the leaves of the trees sparsely standing throughout the park.

"Do you need anything?" the young woman insists.

Ten shakes his head slowly. The confusion turns into dread and settles into his body like sediment. He sees her as though he is looking up from the bottom of a lake. "No," he whispers. "Thank you."

She doesn't seem convinced, but she also doesn't seem like she wants to stay with him a moment longer. Ten can't blame her -- she must have a class to catch, and she's wasting time here with Ten. "They're calling you again," she says, pointing to Ten's phone.

It's Sicheng. 

"I'm fine," Ten says again. "Thank you so much." Ten smiles at her when she says she'll be off, and answers the call when he's alone.

"Ten!" Sicheng yells into the phone. "God, where are you? We've been calling all morning. Are you okay?"

Sadness slams into him like a pickup truck. He ended up here, but he could have ended up anywhere. The hours between three in the morning when he awoke from his nightmare and now -- close to noon -- are a gaping hole in his mind. He could have done anything in the dissociative fog, and that terrifies him. He draws in a ragged breath and crumples over on himself, folded in half on a bench in Washington Square Park. His fingers won't stop shaking, even when he closes his hands into tight fists and holds them against his stomach. "I'm sorry," he sobs.

"What are you talking about? Where are you, Tennie?"

"I'm in the park," Ten says. "I'm sorry for worrying you."

"How'd you end up at the park?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I don't know." Tears drip down his face and plop onto the pavement under his feet. He is so embarrassed. If he could trust his legs to be steady underneath him, he'd sprint home, but he can't. His knees and ankles feel so shattered it's like they've been disconnected from his body. "I just. I just woke up. I must have been sleepwalking."

"You were gone when Taeyong woke up," Sicheng explains. "And then you didn't show up in the morning to meet Mark at the cafe. And none of us could reach you."

"I'm sorry," Ten sobs again, his heart breaking at the trouble he's caused his friends.

Sicheng sighs. "I'm just glad you're okay."

"I'm scared I'm losing it, Sicheng," Ten whispers. "I think I'm going crazy."

"You aren't," Sicheng says. "Can I tell Kun where you are? He can go get you."

"Don't tell Kun!" Ten shouts into the phone immediately, wincing. Just the thought of it makes Ten want to empty the contents of his stomach. "Please. Please don't tell Kun."

"He was worried, Ten," Sicheng says quietly. "We all were."

Ten sniffles into the phone and straightens, keeping his gaze lowered in shame. He pulls the sleeves of his shirt down over his knuckles and wipes them under his eyes. "Tell him I went for a walk. Tell him I'm fine. I can meet him at the cafe later today."

"I'm not going to lie to him, Ten."

"Then don't tell him anything at all," Ten begs. "I'll talk to him."

"What happened last night?"

Ten thinks back to what he can remember, retracing yesterday. He’d woken up and met Kun at his place, where they’d had breakfast with a grumpy, sleepy Yangyang, before heading out and taking the train up to Midtown. Yangyang had gained energy on the train, and by the time they emerged from the underbelly of the city he’d been laughing and bouncing between them, one hand in Kun’s and one hand in Ten’s. He’d been excited to go to school, something that only big kids did.

He remembers the sweet, tantalizing aroma of freshly-baked cookies in Kun’s apartment. Remembers Kun’s lips against his, against his pulse, against his wrist. Remembers how it felt between Kun’s body and the kitchen counter. After that, he’d gone about his day -- stopping into the cafe, chatting with Mark, working until the sun was low along the horizon, peaking through the gaps between the buildings. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

Then halfway through the night, he remembers chaos. His heart pounding in his ears, hands grasping for something steady and comforting to hold. He groans. "I had a bad dream. I took -- I think I took a couple of Ambien."

"You think?"

"It was a really bad dream, Sicheng," Ten says desperately.

Another long pause. The air in Ten's lungs shudders and shakes inside of him. Sicheng says, "You have to talk to Taeil about this, Tennie, and I think you should also stop taking the Ambien."

"I wish it would all go away," Ten cries. "I wish it never happened. I wish I didn't have to live with this."

"I know," Sicheng murmurs. "I know. You're gonna be okay. You're stronger than you think."

"How do you know?"

"Because all the bad parts are over and done with, and now all that's left is healing." 

“Was Kun really worried?” Ten asks, feeling small.

“He’ll be fine.”

“He’s already got so much to worry about. I’m just adding to it, aren’t I?”

“Don’t go down that road, Ten,” Sicheng says. “It’s not good for anyone.”

Needle-points of pressure prick into his temples, forecasting the start of a vicious headache. “I think I need to talk to Taeil today,” he says.

“Do you want me to call him for you?”

“No, thanks. I can do it myself.” Ten closes his eyes against the light and pictures the way Kun smiled at him in his kitchen, flour dusted on his cheek. “I'm in love with Kun, Sicheng,” Ten whispers.

“So tell him,” Sicheng says. “Let him in. Tell him how you feel."

.


	19. Chapter 19

Taeyong’s been hovering closer than a news helicopter over an active car chase ever since Ten’s sleepwalking incident, and it’s starting to make Ten a little agitated. His eyes follow him around the room when he thinks Ten doesn’t notice, and conversation has been quieting or pausing completely between Taeyong and Doyoung whenever Ten enters or leaves the kitchen or living room, wherever they happen to be sharing space at the time. 

Ten’s finding it much easier to simply shut himself in his own bedroom after returning from the cafe and to try not to hyperventilate. Taeil says this is normal. Or, not normal exactly, but not an unheard-of response to blacking out on sleeping pills and waking up in a park. Ten’s rattled, and his body is still coming to terms with it. He just wishes the event didn’t further his fear of going to sleep.

He also wishes Taeyong wouldn’t hang out in the living room until late into the night, hoping to catch him and hook him into a conversation about what happened, because he doesn’t really want to talk about what happened. He doesn’t want to have to face the pity and worry and concern in Taeyong’s eyes, the fact that Ten put those feelings there. Right now, it feels like the weight of his friend’s gaze could sink him into the ground forever. He’s tired, and sad, and Taeil wants to put Ten on some medication and it makes Ten so nervous his stomach feels like a blender churning all day and night.

Sicheng talks to him sometimes after sessions with Taeil, equal parts wise and frustrating. "You're in a holding pattern, Ten. You've just got to break it. Have you told him yet?"

Ten knows he's in a holding pattern. He knows he has to break it. He's just rendered immobile when he thinks at all about what could happen after. "Why are you telling me things I already know? And no. I haven't."

"Because you need to hear them, Ten."

Ten can't slam the phone down onto a receiver to end the call but he can smash the big red 'end call' button spitefully and stick his tongue out at the phone screen, cursing, knowing he'll call Sicheng again in a day or two wanting to hear the same things from a kind, familiar voice.

At the cafe, Mark has taken on more hours, and Dejun is quickly proving himself a capable part-timer. Ten manages a couple of sentences with Kun before his anxiety takes over, and then he hides in the back with the excuse that he has to prepare for the afternoon rush until Kun goes away because it’s about time to pick up Yangyang from daycare, a pained expression on his face. Then in the evening, when he has time to think about the daylight hours, the blender in his stomach churns and he texts Kun an apology for being weird and avoidant and that he’s going to be okay and to please be patient. He just needs time. 

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

He feels guilty for keeping Kun and Yangyang in the dark most of all.

He talks to Taeil about it, and sometimes they walk through what the conversations could sound like, look like, feel like, if Ten told Kun about what happened and what he’s going through. It would be nice if by the end of those conversations Ten didn’t feel like throwing up.

“Let’s try again next time,” Taeil says, a wealth of patience and understanding, and Ten goes home and feels like shit.

.

Five days later, after much needling from Sicheng, Ten brings home a paper bag from the Duane Reade down the street and puts it on the coffee table. He forgets about it as he does the dishes still in the sink from this morning, puts some rice on to cook in the rice cooker, and showers. Comfortable in his pajamas after, he fixes himself an easy stir fry and flops onto the couch with his dinner, losing his appetite immediately at seeing the little white baggie on the table.

Taeyong opens the door a couple of hours later to this: Ten curled up on the couch with the throw blanket pulled up to his chin, Netflix’s _Terrace House_ on the television reflecting off the lens of his glasses. His rice and stir fry have gone cold in front of him, untouched. It’s too late for Ten to pretend he’s fallen asleep because Taeyong's already seen him, so he mutters a greeting in Taeyong’s direction.

Taeyong beams. Then he catches himself beaming and dials it back, probably not wanting to seem too enthusiastic about Ten being out of his room. It reminds Ten of kindergarten teachers who smile and grin when a kid has fallen or bumped their head, to distract them from the little hurts they experience in life. 

“Hi,” Taeyong says, bright but reserved. He stuffs leftovers from his restaurant into the refrigerator haphazardly, coming around the kitchen counter and into the living room with a spring in his step. “ _Terrace House_?”

“It’s mind-numbing,” Ten explains, bringing his knees closer to his chest to make room for Taeyong on the couch. 

Taeyong says, “I’d join you but I know I smell like garlic. I’m gonna shower and then I’ll come back out. Will you still be watching?”

Ten shrugs noncommittally. “Isn’t it early?”

“Early?”

“The restaurant. Isn’t it still open?” 

Taeyong looks at his phone in his hand. Ten knows it’s just past ten in the evening. He knows because he was supposed to take his medication with his meal and he’s been avoiding it for two hours.

“Oh,” Taeyong says. “The staff have it covered. It’s nearly closing time, anyway. Now that the launch is over, my schedule is a lot more flexible, you know?”

Ten frowns and pushes himself up to sitting, the blanket falling to his lap. Of course he’s noticed Taeyong’s closeness, the way he doesn’t leave in the mornings until the very last minute, and tries to come home early from the restaurant if he can. Ten knows Taeyong wouldn’t say it, but he’s checking on him. Ten considered the behavior helicopter-hovering just days before, but he now sees and appreciates the concern, and feels sorry for disregarding it. “Can you sit with me a bit? I don’t care if you smell.”

Taeyong’s grin carries such warmth that Ten blushes from the strength of it. “Yeah, I’d love to,” Taeyong says. He sits next to Ten on the couch, mindful of the space between them.

The episode Ten’s watching plays on. In it, one of the young women in the house cries in front of her crush, worried that her crush has been revealed to him by someone she considered a friend before she was ready. Her heartache is such an innocent thing.

“I’m sorry about these past couple of days,” Ten says quietly.

“It’s okay,” Taeyong says. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

A hook catches in his chest, and Ten shudders. “I’m working on it.”

“If you want to talk about it, I’m here. If you don’t, I’m still here.”

The hook in his chest pulls. It hurts, and Ten heaves as tears jump into his eyes. “I know. I’ve known. Sometimes I forget, or I tell myself I’m not worth your time, but I know you care about me.”

“You’re always worth my time, Tennie,” Taeyong says. His hand curls over Ten’s in his lap, and he squeezes once. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Ten whispers, his throat raw and aching. The credits for the episode begin to play, the screen glowing white. He’s sunken so deeply into the couch that every movement takes Herculean effort, or maybe that’s just the exhaustion draped over his bones like a spell. Ten takes a deep, shaky breath, and turns to look Taeyong in the eyes. No pity there -- just love, and tenderness. “Can you help me with something?” he asks.

“Anything,” Taeyong says immediately.

The hook releases, and he can breathe again. “I was supposed to start my medication with dinner tonight but I chickened out, and now I think it’s too late. Are you...are you around tomorrow night?”

“I can be here,” Taeyong says.

“It’s so dumb, right? I’m an adult. I should be able to…”

“I can be here,” Taeyong repeats, emphatic on every word. He squeezes Ten’s hand again.

Ten nods and swallows the lump in his throat. “Okay,” he manages to eke out. “Okay. Thank you.”

.

Three days later at around ten o’clock, right when Ten is expecting him, Kun walks through the cafe doors in running shorts and a tightly fitted t-shirt that’s made of the slightly swishy, shiny material that’s supposed to dry quickly and not retain any heat. He’s fresh from his run, sweat dampening his hairline and trickling down his temples, and yet there’s a lightness to his step as he approaches, and Ten forgets he’s supposed to be nervous and smiles at him.

Kun blinks, pauses, and then he grins cheerfully in front of Ten, leaning his hands onto the counter. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hi,” Ten says softly, reaching for the stack of paper cups to the side of the register. “The same today?”

“The same,” Kun confirms. He cocks an eyebrow, a question playing on his lips, but doesn’t ask it.

“What?” Ten prompts.

Kun shakes his head, changing his position to lean his hip against the counter instead, still grinning. “I just think you look good in purple,” he says quietly. “It’s your favorite color. It makes you happy.”

Ten almost drops the cup he’s holding. He goes to the back counter to prepare Kun’s drink, chewing on his lip, knowing that’s probably not it. That’s probably not the whole thing. Kun’s just being kind, pointing out objective truths because Ten hasn’t shared anything more. Kun probably wants to know why Ten’s looking him in the eye today, why he hasn’t gone to hide in the back like he normally does around this time (the fact that Mark couldn’t come in today and Dejun isn’t scheduled until later notwithstanding), what happened to him in the park over a week ago. And Ten wants to tell him.

More than that, he thinks he might be ready to tell him.

He finishes making Kun’s soy latte and carefully leaves a little foam heart on top of the drink, and hands it to Kun with both hands so that their fingers touch when Kun takes it from him. A little electricity fizzles in his fingertips at the contact before they release.

Ten has to do this before he loses his nerve.

“Hey, Kun?” 

Kun sips his drink, content in his spot like a cat in the sunlight that's streaming in through the windows. “Yes?” 

Ten grits his teeth against the reflex to duck behind the counter and hide. The blender in his stomach starts churning again, but he pushes on, curling his fists on top of the counter’s surface and steadying himself. He thinks of the ocean, the breeze coming in from the waves. He thinks of Yangyang’s sleepy smile when he told Ten he loved him. He thinks of the way Kun cups his face when he kisses him like he is something precious, something to be loved, and he realizes he misses that feeling in the deepest parts of his soul. “Can you come back tonight after the cafe closes?” he asks. “Or -- I don’t know. I think we should talk. Can I see you? I can come to yours since you’ve got Yangyang…”

Kun sighs, and pain twists at Ten’s insides, but he tells himself to be patient. To have faith. 

Then Kun chuckles. “Yangyang would love to see you. He’s been asking about you. Everyday it’s ‘Where’s Ten Ge? Can we go see Ten Ge? Baba, you’re boring! I want to play with Ten!’”

“He _does not_ say that,” Ten gasps.

“Oh, he does,” Kun says. “But I mean, I see where he’s coming from. I miss you, too.”

“Kun…” Ten hangs his head, digging his nails into his palms. 

Kun notices and reaches across the counter to lay his palm over the top of Ten’s hand. “I think we should talk, too,” Kun says gently. His fingers are warm and dry, gently coaxing Ten to release his grip. “I want to talk to you. About whatever you want to talk about. Let’s have dinner, okay? My treat.”

“Are you sure…?”

“I’m sure,” Kun says, still holding Ten’s hand.

The bell above the door rings and Kun turns toward the noise. Ten welcomes the distraction to pull himself together, and takes his hand back regrettably. “I’ll come,” Ten promises, trying to shoo Kun away from the counter, but Kun only sways closer like a bug to a light, and Ten’s leaning in for a kiss before he even realizes he’s doing it, and then they’ve kissed and Kun is smiling at him and the customer is standing before the register, clearing her throat awkwardly and looking away to give them another moment.

“Thank you,” Kun says.

“For what?” Ten can feel himself turning beet red.

“For giving us this chance,” Kun says. 

He doesn’t stay for much longer after that, and when he leaves Ten watches him through the window until he disappears from view, heart full when at the very last moment, Kun turns back to wave at him.

.

Two years ago now, Ten woke up in a hospital bed to his sister napping in the chair beside him. He must have made a noise or something, because the next thing he remembers is chaos -- his mother crying loudly in his ear as the nurses tried to pry her off him, his father smelling of acrid smoke, the machines beeping, the vents whirring, someone saying, “It’s a lot to take in. Settle down, settle down. You’re in the hospital.” 

Something cold filtered into his veins. He had the feeling that he should be in a lot of pain, but he was floating above it all, like he was a cloud and his body was separate from him, an old shell or husk that used to contain his vibrance. He lay there on the hospital bed and cried because he was empty, because something had been stolen from him, and finally there was silence, and in the silence, he remembered.

“Tern,” he sobbed. Her hand fit around his in an instant, and her face came into view.

“I’m here,” she said softly. She had pulled the chair closer. He could only focus on her eyes, everything else was too much. 

“Tern,” he pleaded, begging her to understand what he couldn’t say as ice crawled through his bloodstream and sank heavily into his bones. He could barely keep his eyes open.

Tears welled up in her eyes. "They took him to the station for questioning. Please don't go back to him, Ten."

Ten could hear his heart beating in his ears, heavily thudding like a steel drum. It seemed slow, slower. He closed his eyes and murmured, "I have no place left to go home to."

Everything fell away. When he woke up again, they’d released his boyfriend already from holding. _Just an accident,_ they said. _An accident_. He knew someone who knew someone who knew someone. That was how things worked.

.

Ten paces in front of the door to Kun’s apartment building, wringing the bottom hem of his t-shirt in between his hands. The sun has set and the night is quickly cooling and Ten’s not sure why he suddenly thought of that day in the hospital; maybe because he now recognizes that moment, after months of therapy with Taeil, as the moment things really changed. And now here Ten is, standing in front of a door that leads to someone who has changed him.

The kind of terror he feels now isn’t bone-chilling, but rather a little exciting, a little thrilling. _Take a chance on this_ , a voice is telling Ten in his head, and it’s a voice he hasn’t heard in a while. Optimism feels like a stretch to him, and the word also doesn’t carry the weight that Ten feels in his chest when he thinks of Kun. So he calls it trust. He trusts Kun.

And god is it terrifying to trust someone with your whole heart.

He is just about to walk back up to the front door to ring the buzzer when the door opens and Kun walks out holding a huge white trash bag.

“Kun!” he calls out in surprise.

A smile breaks over Kun’s face, easy and bright. It tickles Ten’s insides. “Ten,” Kun says. “I was just taking this out. Great timing. Give me one second.”

He goes to throw out the trash to the side of the building and returns with one arm outstretched to curl around Ten’s middle and to draw him in for a quick kiss. Ten giggles, suddenly lightheaded, as their lips meet.

“What’s so funny?” Kun says.

“I was so nervous, but one look at you and it all went away.”

“Because I look funny?”

“Because, I--” Ten says, gasping and diving back in for another kiss before he can give himself away. “Yeah, because you look funny.”

“Tease me some more inside, yeah? Yangyang’s waiting for you. I told him we would tuck him in and then he had to go to bed because we needed some alone time.”

“And he got that?” Ten asks, following Kun inside, his hand tucked into Kun’s elbow. 

“The daycare introduced the concept of personal space this week, so it just happened to work out well for tonight.”

“I get to tuck him in?”

“You sure do,” Kun says. They stop in front of his door, and Kun turns to him and cups his face into his hands just the way Ten likes, his thumbs brushing over the studs in Ten’s earlobes like he’s caressing them. Ten almost goes boneless just from this, but he manages to stay upright as Kun presses his lips to the crown of Ten’s forehead. “We’ll talk after,” he promises.

Ten’s breath hitches. He nods.

Kun unlocks and opens the door.

.

Yangyang asks Ten to read him the same story from the same book twice, his tiny body curled up under his blanket next to Ten, who has to fold his legs up in order to fit in beside him in the boy’s red bed shaped like a racecar. Toward the end of the second reading, Ten notices Yangyang’s breathing deepening, his eyelids staying closed for longer every time he blinks.

Ten puts the book away when he’s done, and scooches down to hug Yangyang close to his chest before kissing the very tip of his nose. “Good night, baby,” he whispers.

“Don’t go,” Yangyang whines in Mandarin, curling his fist into Ten’s shirt. “Yangyang isn’t tired.” Even as he says the words, his eyes roll back after a particularly heavy blink.

“I’ll be right outside with your Baba,” Ten promises quietly. “Just close your eyes, baby. You’ll see me again before you know it.”

“Baba,” Yangyang parrots, the words coming out like puffs of air. He takes another slow breath and then he sinks into his bed, asleep. Ten kisses his forehead this time, and steals a couple of moments with him like this, peaceful and sweet. Then he rolls out of the racecar bed and pads over to the door, opening it as quietly as he can and leaving a sliver of it ajar so that they can see into the room in case Yangyang wakes up.

Kun waits for him on the couch, and a simple meal of stir-fried noodles in two separate bowls sits on the coffee table, ready to be devoured. 

“He’s asleep,” Ten whispers, crawling onto the couch to mold himself against Kun and fit his body into his lap. 

“I think that’s a record,” Kun says with his arms open and loose. “You should come over every night to tuck him in.”

Ten thinks Kun must be joking, but the thought of coming over every night to be a part of their family makes him feel like a freshly baked pie right out of the oven, ooey gooey and not quite yet set in the center, but still perfect. “That would be nice,” Ten says, feeling Kun wrap his arms around him. He lays his head against Kun’s chest, hearing his heart thudding faintly under his ribs. “Should we talk now or after we eat?”

“Do you have a preference?”

“I need to eat something,” Ten says, considering his next words carefully. “I’m on this medication now and I have to take it with a meal.”

Kun’s chest rises on an inhale as his arms tighten around Ten. He’s surprised, but measured about it. “Medication? Are you sick?”

“That’s kind of...what I want to talk to you about,” Ten says in a small voice. 

It’s funny. He thought he’d be fighting off a panic attack at this point, or at least a very acute stomach ache, but Kun’s heart is still beating under his palm and his boyfriend smells a bit like garlic and sesame oil from the stir-fry and he’s calm. Cozy. 

Maybe practicing the conversation so many times with Taeil actually helped, or maybe he just feels safe with Kun, no matter what.

“Okay,” Kun says. He makes no movements, allowing Ten to lead the way. “I’m listening.”

Ten gives himself another three breaths before stretching out over the other end of the couch to search inside of his tote bag he’d left on the rug, taking out a small bottle of light green pills. They rattle in his hand, and he puts the bottle on the table. Though he and Kun have separated on the couch, his hand lingers in Kun’s. The contact anchors him.

“The morning I disappeared,” Ten starts. Now the nerves start to creep up on him unexpectedly, and he sputters. Kun squeezes his hand in encouragement, and Ten tries again. “I’m really, truly sorry about that. For worrying you and the others. I’d been having trouble sleeping so I took some Ambien -- you know what Ambien is?”

Kun nods, tight lipped, eyes focused. 

“I’ve done it before. It’s not...good for me. You know those stories of people who take it and then get in their cars and go for a drive? That’s me. At least I don’t have a car, right?” He glances at Kun with a nervous grin and swallows it back when he finds Kun isn’t smiling at all. The expression on Kun’s face isn’t one that he’s used to -- a little stern, his mouth turned down at the corners, his eyebrows furrowed -- but he’s still holding Ten’s hand and rubbing his thumb back and forth over it.

Ten says, “I’d rather risk walking into traffic like that than have another nightmare about my ex. That’s where I was that night. Does that make sense to you?”

The lines in Kun’s forehead deepen as he considers what Ten is telling him. It feels like forever has passed before Kun says, “I think it does, sweetheart."

A dam breaks inside of Ten’s chest and a flood of relief spills out. Kun’s not angry with him. Kun might not even think he’s broken. He’s still here, listening, waiting for the rest of Ten’s story. There’s something about Kun’s readiness to accept whatever Ten is telling him that makes him think Kun’s not as unfamiliar to all this as Ten thought.

“Hang on,” Kun whispers, leaving the couch to Ten’s surprise, but he comes back quickly, a box of tissues in hand. Ten hadn’t even noticed he was crying. He takes a couple of soft tissues gratefully, dabbing under his eyes and sniffling. “Do you want to take a break?” Kun asks.

“No,” Ten says. “I’m afraid I’ll lose my nerve again.”

“Okay,” Kun nods, voice thick with emotion as his eyes well with tears. He takes Ten’s hand again, this time cupping both hands around Ten’s palm. “Whenever you’re ready.”

It takes another couple of breaths for Ten to feel ready, Kun’s dark, warm eyes on him the whole time. “Even though I knew it could happen, the fact that it did happen scared me a lot," Ten says, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice. "And I hated that I’d put my friends through something like that. I was really...struggling after that. I don’t have a great relationship with medication so I’ve resisted it for a while, but I -- I trust Taeil, so I talked to him some more, and he started me on a low dose. I’ve been taking it now for about a week.”

He pauses again, trying through the slow but steady stream of tears down his face to read Kun, and he finds him looking at him with such acceptance and love that he almost pulls his hand back, not sure if he’s deserving of it. 

“What does it help with?” Kun asks gently.

Ten swallows. “I take it for some of the stuff my ex put me through. And some other stuff.”

“What other stuff? Related or unrelated?” 

“That’s the thing -- I don’t know. Maybe it’s related, maybe not.” He tries to remember how Taeil had explained it. “My brain processes things a little differently from most other people sometimes, because of the -- because of the trauma. But it was a little different before all that, too. Does it matter to you that much, where it comes from? Why I'm like this?”

“No,” Kun says, shifting closer to Ten on the couch. “It doesn’t. I just want to understand how I can help you when you’re sad, or scared, or whatever else.”

“Oh,” Ten breathes. “You already do help me, Kun.”

“How?”

Ten’s not sure if he moves first or if Kun does, but his face is in Kun’s hands again, his hands curled around Kun’s hips. He has to keep himself from crashing against Kun’s lips. “You’re patient, and kind, and silly. You make me laugh when I’m down, and you make space to talk about things that are usually so hard to talk about. You opened yourself up to me and that’s helped me open myself up to you. You’re just -- you’re _you_ and I feel like I’m more _me_ around you. I’m losing my words. I'm not good with them. I’m sorry.”

“Say it plainly, then, if you want.”

Ten wants. He sees himself in Kun’s eyes and wonders how long it takes for a soul to take root in someone else’s body, to share space like that, living and breathing and growing together until you can’t tell them apart. 

“I love you,” he whispers, the words tumbling out of his mouth like petals, soft and delicate. “I love you so much.”

Kun gasps in delight and clumsily pushes their faces together, laughing quietly as their noses bump, as their lips find each other. He kisses the corner of Ten’s mouth. “I love you, too. I am so in love with you,” he says across Ten’s skin, each touch of his lips another confession, another promise, and Ten feels that he’s finally found his home.

.


	20. Chapter 20

Ten wakes into a cocoon of warmth and security. Light dances beyond his closed eyelids, and he makes a small noise of protest low in his throat at the unrelenting sun. When he hears an answering grunt, he searches for its source. Kun’s arm is heavy and slack over his side, Kun’s breath breaking lightly across the back of his neck. Ten drags his hand up until he can twine their fingers together in front of his chest, wrapping Kun’s arm more tightly around him. 

“You awake?” Ten murmurs.

“No,” Kun breathes. “Shh…”

Ten quiets and drifts in and out of sleep for a while, until the light becomes too unbearable and insistent, and he makes another noise of protest as he opens his eyes to the world. The eggshell-cream of Kun’s walls greets him, as well as a sliver of sunlight that has beamed into the room through a slit in Kun’s curtains and straight into Ten’s face. With a groan, he lifts Kun’s arms and turns in his hold, facing him now, and dives back into Kun’s embrace, nose-first. He smells like cinnamon and clove spices toasting in a pan, although that could also be the spiced apple cider they made last night in the kitchen together.

Thinking of yesterday makes Ten smile against Kun’s skin. It's now officially Fall, with the leaves turning and the wind gushing past cold ears with a bite, and they took Yangyang apple picking for the first time. Actually, Ten took Kun  _ and  _ Yangyang apple picking. Neither had gone before, so it was up to Ten to guide them around on the orchard upstate that they’d decided on visiting, sharing with them the an experience that felt unique to the northeastern region of the United States: biting into freshly fried apple cider donuts, hanging onto a wagon through a bumpy hayride, and packing an unreasonable number of apples into the little paper bags the orchard gave you as you entered. He carried Yangyang on his shoulders so Yangyang could reach plump apples on higher branches -- apples that shone like rubies after a quick buff against the sleeve of his sweater. 

They came home with too many apples to count. Ten has a feeling he’ll be making and selling apple pies and apple bread and apple tarts at the cafe in bulk for the next couple of days, or even weeks.

“What are you smiling about?” Kun mumbles above him, wrapping his arms tighter around Ten’s torso.

“How do you know I’m smiling?”

“I can feel it,” Kun whispers. “Your lips moving. Even though they should be up here, kissing me.”

“You’re not awake yet. Plus, morning breath,” Ten teases.

“I promise you I don’t give a hoot about your morning breath,” Kun assures him.

Ten laughs quietly, tucked against Kun and bundled up under the duvet together. “A hoot,” Ten repeats. 

“Ugh, Yangyang says it all the time because of his teacher and now he’s got me saying it.”

“I think it’s cute.” Ten lifts his face and manages to press his lips against Kun’s, even though he gives himself a triple chin in order to do so. “Do you give a hoot about me?”

“Oh, I give so many hoots about you,” Kun says, kissing him back. “I love you, sweetheart.”

No matter how many times Kun says it, it still takes Ten’s breath away. He gasps softly against Kun’s lips and presses forward, deepening their kiss, as though he could give Kun back the love he’s shared with him that way. He wonders if there’s a wrong way to kiss someone when you’re in love with each other. He wonders if there’s a right way. All he knows is that Kun’s kisses make him feel like there are infinite Tens and infinite Kuns in infinite worlds kissing all at the exact same time. So much packed into one touch that he should have exploded like fireworks by now, but that’s the magic in love, he supposes; something keeps him together.

He feels Kun’s hands traveling slowly across the small of his back, over his hips, sneaking under the hem of his shirt. Over the past couple of weeks they’ve been growing steadily more intimate, Ten revealing more and more of himself to Kun and getting used to the way he touches him. 

“That’s good,” Ten whispers, urging Kun on and slipping his knee between Kun’s legs. It’s so warm under the covers, and the heat builds quickly. “Keep going.”

“As far as last night?” Kun asks.

Ten nods, heart skipping. “Yeah.”

Kun’s fingers dance along the hem of Ten’s pajama bottoms, brushing over his skin there. He pushes Ten’s shirt up over his belly and runs his palms lightly over Ten’s ribcage. “Good?”

“Yeah,” Ten squeaks. He feels himself growing flush already, and wishes Kun couldn’t turn him on as easily as he does. Or maybe that’s a good thing. Kun covers his mouth with his own to distract him as he flicks his thumbs over Ten’s nipples, but Ten twitches and gasps. “Kun--!”

The door flies open and Yangyang bursts through into the room with a cry. “Baba! Ten!”

Ten curls himself into the tiniest ball possible and yanks the covers over his head as Yangyang latches onto the blanket and uses it to climb onto the mattress. He flings himself over Ten’s body as Kun laughs.

“Wake up!  _ Zao shang le _ !” 

“Bao bao, get off of Ten please,” Kun says calmly, holding his arms out for Yangyang to crawl into. 

The boy is all elbows and knees as he slinks over to Kun’s side of the bed and squeezes in between them on the mattress. “Ge~” he sing-songs near the vicinity of Ten’s head. Ten hears him giggle and poke around a bit at the lump that is Ten under the covers, attempting to find him. “Gege, gege, gege, gege--”

Ten flips the covers up and over Yangyang instead, burying the boy under a pile of blanket, roaring like a dragon while Yangyang shrieks. “I’ve got him!” Ten says triumphantly to Kun as he wrangles Yangyang's flailing limbs to his sides and rolls the boy into a blanket burrito. “What shall we do with him?”

“Dye his hair blue!” Kun suggests. Yangyang protests this idea loudly.

“Draw red marker all over his face!” Ten shouts.

“No!” Yangyang wails, laughing and twisting in a valiant effort to free himself of the blanket.

“Brush his teeth?” Kun asks.

“Yes!” Ten nods enthusiastically. “We must brush his teeth!” With a sort of battle cry, Ten swoops Yangyang into his arms and rolls off the bed, landing on his feet. Yangyang laughs and doesn’t whine when Ten puts him down onto the ground, understanding that their impromptu play-time is over for now. 

“Ten Ge, too?” Yangyang asks, blinking up at Ten with an earnest, hopeful expression on his face.

“Of course, baby,” Ten says. He ducks down to kiss the top of Yangyang’s head before they amble over to the bathroom together, Yangyang’s hand wrapped around two of Ten’s fingers. 

.

Not all mornings are the same. Some days, Ten wakes up and feels the whole weight of the world sitting on top of his chest, crushing his shoulders. Sometimes, he is alone. Sometimes, he's with Kun, and Kun always seems to sense the darkness threatening to swallow Ten up before he says anything at all.

He turns into Kun's hold and can't quite grasp him with his fingers, but Kun smooths a hand down Ten's back and whispers love into his ear. 

"Wanna just lay here together?" Kun asks, soft and sweet and gentle.

Ten nods as sunlight slowly fills the room.

.

"It was so fancy, Mark, and then when I stood up to go to the bathroom I knocked into our waiter and he spilled the wine  _ everywhere _ ."

Mark laughs as Dejun leans over the counter on his elbows, head hanging in despair. 

"It looked like we murdered someone," Dejun continues forlornly.

Mark laughs harder, and Ten, squashed into a seat at the table in the corner of the cafe with his round-framed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, tries not to eavesdrop too much on their conversation as he double checks the numbers in their budget.

"Yeah, and?" Mark prompts. "You still went back to his for ice cream after! I call it a success."

"I just wish I could control my limbs every once in a while," Dejun mumbles. 

"Hendery clearly finds you adorable," Mark says. "Cute, sexy, tiny--"

"Did I show you the pictures we took?"

"No!"

Ten lets their friendly squabbling fade into the background as he works. Now that both of his part-time employees are well accustomed to their schedules and responsibilities, Ten's been able to take a step back from managing the counter at the cafe to think more about potentially expanding in the next year or so. He could hire some full-time staff, book the space out for events, maybe work with Taeyong to create a menu. But all this would require saving and planning.

"Hey, you."

Ten looks up, and Kun greets him with a kiss that feels like coming home. A simple, familiar touch. He blushes behind his glasses and Kun slides his thumb down the side of Ten’s face in a caress before taking the seat opposite him.

“Hey, you,” Ten whispers back. He extends his legs out under the table until their ankles cross like a zipper being pulled closed. 

“Coming over later?” Kun asks.

Ten nods. The way the afternoon sunlight glances off Kun’s cheeks highlights the fine structure of his face. “If that’s still okay.”

“Of course it is. Yangyang is so excited to stay over at a friend’s place tonight. He’s never done that before. I expect he’ll forget all about me.”

Ten grins and puts his hand out across the table and Kun slots his palm against his without a glance. “Well, he’ll never forget about me, so I think we’ll be okay.”

“Of course.” 

They fall into a comfortable silence with each other. Ten goes back to his spreadsheets on his tablet, and Kun responds to emails from his students on his phone. Sometime later, Mark stops by with two mugs filled with steaming coffee, and Kun takes these from him gratefully.

“When’s the next open mic?” Kun asks him.

Mark brightens and says, “We’re planning it! End of the month. You coming?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Kun promises. He sends a wink to Ten, who rolls his eyes. When Mark leaves, Kun leans across the table again and knocks against the surface like he’s knocking on a door. “Ten, I’ve been thinking about something,” he says.

Ten’s stomach clenches in anticipation, a reflex, and he tries to keep the worry out of his eyes when he looks at Kun, but he can’t keep himself from biting into his bottom lip. “Oh?”

“Nothing bad,” Kun says quickly. “At least, I don’t think so.”

“What is it?”

Kun steadies himself with a deep breath. When he smiles, the corners of his lips twitch, a sign that he’s uncertain about something. Nervous. Ten darkens the screen of his tablet to give him his full attention. Kun says, “I’ll probably go back home for Spring Break.” A pause, and Ten nods at him to continue. “Travel around for a bit. Maybe I’ll stop in Hong Kong to leave flowers for Vivian. I’ll take Yangyang to see his grandparents. Practice our Mandarin--”

“You’re the Mandarin  _ professor-- _ ” 

“I wanted to see if you’d like to come with us,” Kun finishes quickly. “I know it’s only been a couple of months. I know it might feel fast but by then it’ll almost be a year and...I’m pretty sure about this.”

“About this?” Ten says in the tiniest, mousiest voice he’s ever had. It feels like Kun has sucked all the air out of the world. He reaches out for his hand again and holds on, feeling like he would float away otherwise.

“Us,” Kun says, squeezing his hand around Ten’s. Then: “Please think about it.”

Ten nods dumbly, his thoughts racing so quickly that everything feels like a blur. But when he takes a mental step back and centers himself, he knows exactly how he’ll respond.

(“Yes,” he says, later, when they fall into bed together, when they’re twisted into the sheets together. “Yes, yes, and yes.”)

.

_ The Wedding _

“I’m gonna throw up,” Sicheng whispers in horror at his reflection in the mirror. Ten fiddles with Sicheng’s bow-tie with nimble fingers, even though it’s perfectly knotted under his throat. 

“No, you are not,” Ten says. “You’re gonna walk down that aisle and exchange vows with the man you love and then you’re going to party with your relatives that have flown in from Vancouver and Beijing, and you’ll switch into the sneakers you brought halfway through the night because you’re just going that hard.”

Sicheng nods briskly and then he gasps, face going pale. “I forgot my sneakers!”

“I brought them, dumb-dumb,” Ten reminds him. 

“Where’s Taeyong? He doesn’t call me names. Especially on the night of my wedding!”

“I’m here, I’m here,” Taeyong calls out, striding through the door to Sicheng’s dressing room. “I’ve got breath spray, your vows, and a shot of tequila. What do you want first?”

Sicheng chooses the shot, then Ten tucks Sicheng’s vows written in tiny, scrawling print on paper that’s been creased so many times it’s nearly breaking apart into his vest pocket, and Taeyong sprays mint into Sicheng’s open mouth.

“I can’t believe it’s happening,” Sicheng says after his coughing from the spray hitting the back of his throat subsides. “You guys, I love him so much.”

“We know,” Taeyong says. “We have to go take our places. You’ll be okay?”

Sicheng sets his jaw into a determined line and nods. “I love you both,” he says.

“We love you, too,” Ten says, tears already springing to his eyes. He knows as soon as Yuta opens his mouth to say the first line of his vows, he’ll be a mess of tears. He’s already made Kun promise he can’t take any embarrassing pictures of him while he’s standing up with the others near the front as part of the grooms’ parties. Ten turns away so he doesn’t break down in front of his friend, and readies himself for his own walk down the aisle.

“Ready?” Taeyong asks, extending his elbow for him as they near the main doors to the venue, a covered outdoor space with an incredible view of the Hudson Valley in the background. It is just before sunset, and the sky is the color of fire.

Ten links arms with Taeyong. Two staff dressed in black shirts and tailored pants open the doors for them. “Yeah.”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been wild. thank you so much for reading, cheering, supporting, etc etc. i'm so appreciative of everyone who's reached out to share their experience with this fic :) love you!

**Author's Note:**

> scream about kunten with me
> 
> please leave comments and kudos i'm needy
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/andnowforyaya) | [my cc](http://curiouscat.me/andnowforyaya)


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